Scion: Sins of the Children
by Syreene
Summary: As the rest of the world becomes aware of the existence of Scions, those in New Orleans are finding they need to beware those who fear and covet what they don't understand...
1. Awakenings

**AWAKENINGS**

 _Two months ago - The Herbal Oasis_

"For the last time, Manu, if I'm in the cab with a date, we don't need the personal commentary!" Kenari says angrily as the door to The Herbal Oasis slams open with a loud jingle of bells.

"He was no good for you sister! Didn't you see the way he was leering at women out the window?" Manu tries to explain as he follows her.

Kenari stops and spins around to poke a finger at Manu's chest. "Unlike you, I knew _exactly_ what I was doing! Did you have any idea what kind of money that man has? All of that preparation... wasted! Argh!" She tosses her hands in the air and stomps away leaving the beaded curtain shaking in her wake.

"You really ought to trust her more," Senbi says as he puts their new collection of fresh herbs on display behind the counter.

"I just don't want to see her taken advantage of, little brother," Manu sighs as he runs a hand though his hair.

Senbi smiles as he leans against the counter. "Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe _she's_ the one taking advantage?"

"Why can't they understand?" Kenari sighs and kneels in front of a small shrine with the statue of a black cat wearing gold earrings. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to calm herself before taking a stick of incense out of the cup and lighting it. She waves it over the statue and around herself before replacing it.

"Mau Bast, great protector and goddess of cats… hear my plea." She removes the diamond bracelet that her last "date" gave her and places it around the foot of the statue.

"My father claims I am your child, but I feel so alone right now. He treats me like a fragile doll, and my brothers… they mean well, but they just don't understand what it's like to be without purpose. Haji has the shop, Manu has the taxi, and Senbi..." she lets out a laugh. "Well, he has his girlfriends. I've tried to be the good daughter… but there has to be something more for me out there. I can feel it! Please, great mother… tell me for true if I am deluding myself."

She bends down and kisses the base of the statue. "Thank you for listening." She stands up with a sigh and makes her way upstairs to her apartment, not noticing her father watching her from the kitchen alcove.

He walks to the shrine and places a gentle hand on top of the cat statue with a sigh. "There is only so much a father can do without the guidance of the mother."

 _Later that night... around 4am_

Kenari stretches and yawns as she stands up from her table of cards. "Thank the gods this day is over," she mutters. "If I have to tell one more drunk college girl about the man of their dreams I think I am going to be sick."

As she turns her hand accidentally brushes the table and knocks a number of tarot cards onto the ground. "Shit," she growls as she bends down to pick them up. "I know I saw one more down here... where'd it go?"

There's a soft meow from under the beaded tablecloth as a black cat with bright yellow eyes peeks its head out from under it with a card under his paw.

"What have you got there, Matit? You being helpful?" She asks with a smile as she picks up the card and scratches the cat under its chin. _The High Priestess... figures...you always were a wily one._

Suddenly there's the sound of knocking at her door followed by what she could swear was the sound of scratching. Kenari sighs inwardly as she stands up. "One more customer, Kenari... you can do it." Matit bolts from under the table towards the door and scratches at it excitedly with his front paws.

"Patience, cat! All good things come to those who wait." She runs a hand through her hair and quickly checks her make-up in the mirror before smiling and opening the door. "Welcome to Madame Sanuras, weary traveller. How can I ease your concerns?"

A woman with bronzed skin and shining long black hair smiles back at her. She raises a hand jingling with multiple bracelets and tucks her hair behind her ear, revealing a metal gold cat with blue jeweled eyes wrapped around it. "I have... concerns... about my daughter that I was hoping you could help me with," she answers smoothly. "May I come in?"

"All who seek the truth are welcome," Kenari replies as she opens the door and gestures towards her table. "Please, have a seat."

The woman nods and enters, her hips slowly swaying as she runs a finger over the table and makes her way to her seat. Before Kenari can close the door, however, she is followed by two spotted cats with bright green eyes who give her a meow before joining the woman at her feet. "My apologies, little ones," Kenari says as she takes a seat. "It's not every day you see cats so well behaved."

"They're rather particular with who they choose to follow," the woman replies with an amused smile.

"What question may I help you answer about your daughter tonight?" Kenari asks as she spreads the tarot cards out in a fan on the table with her hand.

The woman reaches out and places a delicate hand wearing intricate finger armor over hers, stopping her over one of the cards. "I need to know if she's ready to find out her purpose," she answers as she looks Kenari in the eyes and motions her hand back to pull out the card she stopped over.

Kenari flips over the card to reveal the calm visage of The High Priestess once again staring up at her.

Kenari swallows as she stares at the card. "To find our true calling is what we all seek, is it not? To know that we were put on this planet for a purpose... it would answer so many questions that we have."

"But is she ready for the truth of it?" The woman asks as she leans forward. "Is she ready to know how large her world truly is... and how _dangerous?"_

"Yes," she replies adamantly as she looks up at the woman before catching herself and clearing her throat. "I... I mean... if she's anything like you, I'm sure she must be capable."

The woman lets out a low chuckle as she pats her hand. "As am I, Kenari Sanura. As am I." She leans back in the chair and starts removing her finger armor piece by piece as she lays them on the table. "I am pleased with what Amon has done with my gift. I believe you are ready, my daughter, for yours." She gestures with her hand to the armor pieces.

"Praise be to the goddess and mother of cats," Kenari whispers as she sits back in shock with wide eyes.

Bast reaches out a hand and gently puts a stray curl behind Kenari's ear with a smile as the golden earcuff has now moved to Kenari.

"Not just to cats... occasionally a chosen few who have earned my blessings. Your father has been a devout follower of mine all his life, and he does his best to continue the old ways despite the changing world around us." She smiles slyly. "I couldn't leave his legacy to those boys, however. While loyal, they do not have that spiritual connection that I _do_ so love... so I gave him you."

"I..." she swallows and takes a deep breath to calm herself. "I will prove your trust in me and my father was not misplaced, mother."

"Of that I am sure, my love," Bast replies as she gestures again to the armor. "Now please... don your gift, and know that I trust you with this most serious purpose."

Kenari dons the filigreed claws and as she puts on each one she can feel an energy flow from her fingers up through her chest. When she sets the last one on her pinky, however, she gasps and freezes, eyes wide as she's overcome with a vision.

 _Swirling images of gods of many different cultures... individual young people from all corners of the world looking up to the sky... older faces filled with hate carrying signs of protest... with Kenari standing in the middle of them all._

"Wh-what just happened to me?" Kenari gasps as her head throbs in pain.

"Truth is often painful, unfortunately," Bast laments, "but if used wisely, these claws will let you see what is to come." She gestures to the earcuff. "And this... will let you see the truth that tries to hide in dark places; physical or... otherwise," she adds mysteriously.

 _Don't forget about me!_ a voice declares in her ear as she reaches up to touch the cuff in surprise. "Who the hell is that?"

 _You can call me Grey Mouser... I'm just your friendly neighborhood disembodied voice here to help you with your purpose._

"And what IS my purpose?" Kenari pleads.

"To find others like you and fix that which is broken," Bast replies as she sets her final gift on the table... a pair of curved daggers with winged scarabs carved into the cross guards and a red ruby at the hilt.

"But what is broken, mother?"

Bast stands up and places her hands on both of Kenari's cheeks before leaning down and kissing her on the forehead.

"The world, my daughter... the world. One day others like you will find you... and all shall be revealed. Be strong, my love." Bast stands with her hands giving one last caress of Kenari's cheeks before she walks towards the door.

She opens the door but pauses to look over her shoulder as Kenari stands. "If all goes well, my daughter... we will meet again someday." With a gesture of her hand the two spotted cats follow to heel and she walks out the door into the night.

Kenari shakes herself and runs to look out the door... but Bast is gone. "Goodbye... mother..."

* * *

A gentle breeze rustled through the palms surrounding her little courtyard. Elle settled back in her chair, cradling her coffee mug in her hands, the rich aroma of coffee and chicory scented the air.

Her mind drifted back to how this chapter in her life began. Just over eleven years ago the nightmares began. There was nothing else to call them, with their howling winds, walls of water, people stuck in attics with rising water and no way out, or baking in the sun on rooftops with no shelter from the relentless sun. She knew the place, it was her home town, New Orleans, there were glimpses of street signs as row boats plied the waters where streets once were.

The first time the dream came Elle woke in a cold sweat, shaking in fear and rage. Was is he dreaming true? Oh, gods, please, no. But the dream came again, this time it was the bayou, houses on stilts engulfed in rising water, the chickens roosting in the bottle tree outside Nana's place. That's when she knew she was dreaming true. Her guts twisted into knots, but when? She breathed slow and deep, centering herself, stilling her mind. Not yet, she'd know when.

After the fourth or fifth iteration of "The Dream", as Elle had begun to think of it, she realized she needed help, how to understand, what to do. For the three years she had been in New York for Nursing School she had let her connection to the Loa and the Gede go quiet. She still had a small altar in her apartment, but she hadn't sat with the spirits in a long time. Renewing her practice after the second visitation of "The Dream" brought more disquiet, not less. The spirits were restless, uneasy, she felt a calling to ceremony with others to seek answers.

This posed a problem. While there were many Voodun practitioners in New York, she wasn't necessarily looking for the ones that could be found publicly. She'd gone to the open Voodoo Temple when she first arrived in town and had not really connected with anyone. A few trips to botanicas around New York yielded little in the way of Voodun contacts.

Elle remembered getting little sleep at this stage of "The Dream" cycle. Between the last year of Nursing School, sitting at her altar, listening to the Ancestors' restlessness, searching through the shops of Harlem, the Bronx and Brooklyn, and the recurring nightmares, sleep was elusive at best. She began to worry about her grades, about her health. In desperation she called New Orleans, to Mambo Kathleen.

What's the matter child?", the soothing voice of her aunt's friend calmed Elle's jangled nerves. Why had she stayed away so long, she wondered. Trying to fit into a world without the spirits certainly had its drawbacks.

"I've been having this horrible dream, New Orleans underwater, it feels like a true dream, a knowing, it keeps recurring, I'm having trouble sleeping, I feel like it's trying to tell me what I need to do but I don't understand,I've read the cards but they don't make sense, the Sun as the basis and the Fool for what may come, I don't understand". As the story of the dream tumbled out of her in a rush Elle felt relief and calm returning.

"You need a reading, one from a mambo or houngan or babalawo" Mambo Kathleen began. "and then you will probably need to attend a fete to hear what the Loa have to say. Have you done any spiritual cleansing? an uncrossing?" The rattle of the cowrie shells could be heard through the phone as she spoke.

"I've looked all over for a hounfour, one that feels right, the only ones I've come across feel cheap, inauthentic. I hadn't thought of going to a babalawo, there's one in East Harlem I've heard good things about. And, no, I haven't done a cleansing." Chagrined, Elle cast her eyes down, even though Mambo Kathleen didn't sit across from her.

"You must remember what I taught you, girl. The Loa have plans for you, that's sure, and your dreaming true. I've had glimpses of what you speak of, but not in that level of detail. You must tell me everything you remember about your dreams. If you have more, write them down, they will be important for us here in Louisiana."

They talked long into the night, afterward Elle slept well for the first time in weeks.

The altar had been set, offerings made, ancestors called. Elle sat expectantly across from Awo Ifakunle as he studied the shells, made notes and threw again, again, again. They had started with a reading on her own ancestors and spirits, who watched over her from the other side, what plant and animal allies the family had. From there investigation into her dreams and direction would be read.

"You are equally connected to both sides of your ancestors. Not many people are." Awo Ifakunle entoned, in semi-trance. "There is fire, lots and lots of fire, the pepper plant, your ally, a fiery lion your totem, and a great tree, tall with deep roots.

"You have two guardians, one a fine tailored gentleman who helped build the French Quarter, and a wise woman of great power from the bayous. Get to know them, sit with them, they will guide you...home, you must go home, that is where your work is, finish your studies, then go home.

"The Orisha are all around you, Yemaya is strong in you, very strong, there is much magic, and the crossroads, too. Elegua is close to you as well. There is more I cannot see."

The readings continued with more offerings, more throwing of shells, more trance-induced talk. Visions of water, and death, and healing, all leading back to New Orleans. She would not escape after all.

Awo Ifakunle looked at her with respect, acknowledging the power within her. He made a phone call, speaking quietly in the receiver, then gave Elle the name and number of someone on Long Island, a mambo that he knew, Mambo Marie Carmel.

"Call her. She is expecting you. You need a good head washing and to attend a fete to hear from the Loa directly. I can tell you that they have work for you at home, in New Orleans. Mambo Marie can guide you from here. It was a pleasure meeting you, you are connected to spirit and the Orisha, the Loa. Do not stray again, child, they will not be pleased. If you do there will be consequences."

Elle made the call when she got home and the whirlwind began. Even though she was busier than ever, Elle slept well, having accepted she would return home. "Damn it!" she mused, "just what I wanted, not." But accept it she did, she had seen the effect resisting the Loa had on some of her friends and family. Not a pretty sight at all, and the longer one fought it, the worse things got. "Not going there, I'm too smart for that, I know when I've been caught, I do".

The head washing made her feel, clear, bright, unburdened, like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. The weight of emotional turmoil and uncertainty was gone. Elle smiled as she dressed in white for the fete that night. This would be a homecoming, it had been many years since she had attended a ceremony. She made sure all was in order, her dress, her head wrapped in the old way, her offerings of fine Cuban cigars and rum for Elegua, and sweet, mashed name and coconut for Yemaya.

The power swirled around her as Elle stepped into the temple. She swayed with the rhythm of the drums, was caught up in the songs and dances as each of the Loa were called into the circle. First came Legba, the gatekeeper of the crossroads, and his family, then the Rada, the Petra and the Gede families. Deep in trance she felt the freedom of the dance and the power of the spirits around her.

By now many of the Loa were in attendance, speaking through those they had possessed. Lost in the rhythm of the drums Elle paid little attention to her surroundings. Suddenly she was confronted by a woman smelling of rum and peppers, eyes black as night, black and purple beads swinging from her neck.

"You!" the woman exclaimed, "You are my daughter! I give you the gifts of death, healing and magic!"

As quickly as she appeared she swirled away, caught up in the crush of people around them both. Elle shook with the power of the encounter, something real had happened, something important. A fine gentleman tipped his top hat to her and smiled as she withdrew from the dance.

"Did you get what you were looking for? Did the Loa have a message for you?" Mambo Marie inquired, seeing that Elle was shaken and had moved out of the dance.

"I'm not sure. Black and purple, rum and peppers, that's Maman Brigitte, isn't it? She called me her daughter and said she had gifts for me. I'm a nurse, a healer, what does the Lwa of death want of me?" Confusion began to return, Elle slumped, energy draining out of her in waves.

"Do not fear Maman, Elle, she has the power to heal as well as harm. She is the last resort for many who seek healing. Perhaps she is calling you to aid those that need help in crossing to the other side. She is powerful and caring in her own way, a good ally to have in this life, and given your dreams I'm not entirely surprised."

Elle let Mambo Marie walk her to a bench against the wall. "Wait here, I'll be back momentarily", and Marie was gone in a swish of white and swirl of gauze.

No sooner had Elle registered her leaving, Marie as back with a steaming cup filled with coffee and chicory, laced with honey and spices. "This will help, drink it and rest for awhile"

When Elle returned home later that night one of her roommates was still awake, studying for exams. "A late night messenger just delivered a package for you." A box wrapped in brown paper and addressed in neat block letters sat at the edge of the dining room table.

Picking it up Elle retreated into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. There was no return address on the box, no marks of a delivery service of any kind, just the neat block letters of her name and address. Unwrapping the box Elle could feel the pulsing energy within. Opening the lid she discovered three pieces of jewelry, each with a tag inscribed with the same block lettering.

Emerald wrapped in silver on a silver chain to be worn around the neck. "Healing" was written on its tag.

A labradorite ear stud, with a tag that said "Magic".

Last, there was a ring of black onyx. Elle didn't need to read the tag to know it was "Death".

Elle smiled, inhaling the scent of coffee and chickory. I should add honey, sometimes, and cinnamon, she thought as she returned her gaze outward to her little courtyard. "Time to go to work" she shrugged off the memories and began to prepare for her day.

* * *

"Afternoon, Francis," said one officer, as the patrol car slowed to keep pace with him.

Fixer winced. "Only my Mama calls me Francis. Whatchu want, po-po?"

"Keep it respectful, Mr. Robinet," the officer told him. "We're just saying hello."

"Uh-huh. 'Cause I'm the kind of guy you say hello to," Fixer said. "Oh, look, there's Fixer. Maybe he robbed a bank this morning. Knocked off a jewelry store and has diamonds in his back pocket. Some stolen credit cards."

"Just making sure you're staying out of trouble."

"Uh-huh. That's not saying hello, is it? That's saying, 'That Fixer, he goin' to do somethin' wrong, let's keep an eye on him."

"If you're not doing anything wrong, you don't have anything to worry about," the officer smiled.

"Look, I ain't done nothing wrong, I ain't doing nothing wrong, you guys are like dogs barking at squirrels," Fixer sneered.

"Been some break-ins on Magazine Street," the officer said. "Know anything?"

"Do your own work," Fixer said. "I ain't no rat."

The patrol car accelerated slightly, pulling up onto the curb ahead of Fixer. The light bar on the roof began strobing red-and-blue.

"Okay, kid, you know the drill," the officer said, getting out of the car. "Hands behind your back."

"You arresting me? For what?" Fixer exclaimed. "Ain't done nothing."

"Hands behind your back," the officer repeated, shoving Fixer towards the wall.

"I ain't done nothing!"

The officer did a quick leg sweep and knocked Fixer off his feet. His partner slammed a knee into the small of his back, and punched him several times. "Hands behind your back, asshole!"

"I ain't do—"

Someone grabbed the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the pavement.

"I said, 'Hands behind your back!'" the second officer snarled. "I won't ask again!"

His arms were wrenched into place, and cuffs snapped onto his wrists. The officers manhandled him into the back of the patrol car and drove off.

He was taken into an interview room and left, handcuffed, for two, maybe three hours before anyone came to speak with him. It was a police detective in a rumpled shirt and jacket, a grease stain on his blue tie.

"I'm told you know something about the break-ins on Magazine Street."

"Whoever told you that is full of shit," Fixer said.

"We have you on a security camera. We know you were in the area," the detective said.

"I need your permission to walk down the street?"

"Watch your tone, punk. We know you're a pickpocket."

"You don't know shit. I ain't got no record," Fixer said.

"You might as well. Your name and face keep turning up in our investigations," the detective told him.

"I bet Abraham Lincoln's name and face keep turning up, too. You investigating him?" Fixer smirked.

"Being a smart-ass isn't going to help you, son."

"Being a dumb-ass isn't going to help you, Mr. Policeman."

"You're college educated. Good family. You're the one standing at the crossroads, son," the detective said. "You need to decide what side of the law you're going to be on. We're done for now. You think about what I said."

It wasn't Fixer's first time in jail. He'd been in juvenile hall several times for truancy, breaking curfew, and shoplifting. All misdemeanors. He'd been picked up before, not only on suspicion of criminal activity, but singled out for attention whenever peaceful protests turned sour.

"I don't belong here, lemme go!" someone shouted.

"Shut up," ordered a guard. "Back away from the door, kid. You're getting a roommate."

"Lemmego," said the new inmate. "I got legs. Well, one leg."

"What's your story, Pops? Why are you getting hassled?" Fixer asked as his cellmate sank onto his bunk. The man was African-American, with salt-and-pepper hair. A beat-up canvas Army jacket. A prosthetic leg. He smelled like cigarette smoke, but not of alcohol. Nor did he have the unwashed, rank odor of a complete indigent.

"Calling me homeless," the man muttered. "I'm not. I'm not. I just ... they don't want to listen. You?"

"Got arrested because they think I know something about some break-ins," Fixer said.

"Same old story when I was growing up. The black kid must have done it," the old man said. "Still the same. Ain't the only one sleeping in doorways, but I'm the one getting hassled about it. Name's Walker."

"Francis Xavier Robinet, though pretty much only my father calls me that. Everyone else calls me Fixer."

"You can call me Walker, or you can call me Sarge," the old man smiled.

"Did you lose your leg in the service?"

"Nope," Walker said. "Drunk driver ran a red light. Woke up in the hospital minus my leg. Now, Robinet ... heard that name before. Big shot pastor. Related?"

Fixer looked down at his shoes. "He's my father. We ... don't talk much."

"Bad juju between you?"

"Difference of opinion," Fixer said. "He may be a man of the cloth, but he's in thick with the politics and money crowd. I think money and laws should follow the spirit, not the other way around."

"How old are you, Fixer?"

"Twenty-four," Fixer told him.

"You sound pretty world-wise for twenty-four."

"Thanks, Sarge," Fixer says. "My old man says I need to accept Jesus as my personal savior. I choose to walk a different spiritual path."

"Vodoun?" Walker asked.

Fixer nodded. "The rest of the Robinets, we all observe the rites. My Aunt has a store on Royal in the French Quarter. She lets me room downstairs."

"Are you a houngan?"

"Sur pwen," Fixer answered. "The men will come to me when they do not want to speak to Mambo Kathleen. You seem to know a lot about the subject."

"Bits and pieces. But I've been ridden."

"Ashay," Fixer said. "A blessing."

"With a cost," Walker told him. "For I have seen things."

"Ashay," Fixer said again. "I would have you tell me, but this is not the time or place."

Walker simply nodded.

The Public Defender saw to Fixer's release on Monday morning. No charges were filed; another camera had provided video of the suspects. Fixer had been several blocks away. Walker remained behind; he had to face a judge on charges of vagrancy.

"I'll come find you. Buy you a drink," he smiled. Then, looking at a dour guard, he added, "Well, maybe coffee and beignets down at Cafe du Monde."

"Deal, Sarge," Fixer said, giving the older man a brother-to-brother handclasp.

It was nearly two weeks before the old man came by the shop.

"Sorry, had to go stand in line at a shelter and play by the rules," he said.

"You mean the rules that keep you in your place," Fixer said.

"Yup. Those rules."

"Mambo Kathleen won't be back for another hour. Got to watch the store until then," Fixer said. "Have a seat. Won't need the table unless someone asks for a reading."

"You read the cards, too? Damn."

"Learned it in grade school. The cards just talk to me."

"Well, I do have something to tell you," Walker said.

The older man sat down and bowed his head. Suddenly, his head jerked backwards. His eyes rolled back into his head. His body twitched, as if someone were shrugging a jacket over their shoulders.

"Ashay," whispered Fixer. Walker had said he'd been ridden, but Fixer hadn't expected to see a demonstration, certainly not one where the Loa simply flowed into a horse so easily.

"Francis Xavier Robinet," the man spoke, his voice redolent with a different place and time. "I am Kalfu."

Fixer knelt. "Mait Carrefour, I hear you."

"Indeed. You are at a crossroads," the Loa/Walker told him. "It is time to embark on a new journey."

"I don't understand. Have I offended?" Fixer asked.

The Loa/Walker gave a deep, robust laugh. "Ho-ho, the look on your face! Oh, no, nothing like that. I have something important to tell you, and some things to give you."

"I am listening."

"I came to your mother one night, and she saw what I wished her to see. You are her son ... and mine."

Fixer stared. His belief was not in question. He'd heard stories of the Loa walking among mortals, as they must, even taking pleasure. But to hear that Kalfu, Papa Legba's dark twin, was his father set his mind to whirling.

"What do you wish of me?" he asked.

"Nothing. I do not make demands, for I am not bound by them. I am pleased with who you are and what you have done, and this is why I am here," Kalfu/Walker said.

"Gifts, to unlock powers that you will one day grow into and make your own."

He took an old skeleton key from his pocket and touched it to Fixer's forehead before presenting it to him.

"To unlock the magic in your blood," Kalfu/Walker intoned.

Fixer nodded and slipped it onto his keyring.

Next, Kalfu presented him with a ring set with a cabochon-cut obsidian. "Though we walk in shadow, we are not blind."

Fixer donned the ring. It was a perfect fit.

A set of dog tags followed, bearing Walker's name. "Know your guide."

Fixer slipped the chain over his head and tucked the tags into his shirt.

"Lose any of these gifts, and you lose the power," Kalfu/Walker warned.

"Thank you, Papa Carrefour."

"There is more," Kalfu/Walker said. "As the blood of the Loa flows in yours, so may your spirit ride in others, eyes, hands, and body. Use the power wisely."

Fixer drew in a sharp breath. To be ridden was one thing; to have the power to ride another, something else. Kalfu/Walker rose from his chair and held out his hand.

"To no man kneel, to no beast submit," he said.

Walker's body jerked once more, and his eyes returned to normal.

"Are you alright, Sarge?" Fixer asked.

"I've gotten used to it," Walker said. "I imagine Papa Carrefour told you?"

"He did. I gather this isn't something I can tell Mambo Kathleen?"

"Not yet, though I imagine she will sense something has changed," Walker said. "One fight is over, another is just beginning. You are already a part of it, standing against laws that suffocate and authority that binds men in chains they cannot see or feel."

Fixer let out a heavy sigh. "Damn. Does that mean my father ...?"

"Chains he cannot see or feel," said Walker. "You understand it at an instinctual level. Whether your father understands it or not, he serves other masters now."

The bells attached to the door chimed as Fixer's aunt, Mambo Kathleen, entered the store. "Good Afternoon," she smiled, a swirl of skirts and a fragrance that seemed to brighten the room without choking everyone in a cloud of perfume.

"Aunt, this is Sergeant Walker," Fixer introduced his friend. "We were ... cellmates the other weekend."

"Welcome, Sergeant Walker."

"Thank you, Mambo Kathleen," Walker replied.

"Ah. You believe?"

"I do. There is wisdom in the ways of our ancestors, and we are stronger when we walk together," Walker said.

"Ashay," Kathleen agreed. "Will you join us for dinner?"

"Actually, that was going to be my question, Ma'am," Walker smiled.

"You're sure, Sarge?" Fixer asked.

"You treated me with respect, and that's A-1 in my book," Walker said. "The police may think I'm some homeless derelict, but that's because they're looking and not seeing. I have a house, but … war changes you. You find sleeping on the floor easier than sleeping on a bed."

"There's more to it than that," Fixer said quietly.

"Yeah, there is."

"When you need to talk, I will listen," he told the older man.

"Thank you."

* * *

"Ugh. I need to stop ordering from Happy Wok."

Sven kept picking at the slimy, cooling egg foo young despite his objections. It was yet another late night at the office, not because he had anything particular to do, but because he found it easier to think there.

It'd been 3 months since they had won the election. He still had a dozen "Christine Porter for a better tomorrow!" yard signs in a corner. Useless now, of course, but he hasn't been quite able to throw them out yet. It was a harrowing election - far more harrowing than even Christine knew, or would ever know if he had anything to do with it.

Sven sighed. When he's got a path before him, he follows it without question, without qualm. But that doesn't mean he's free from judging his actions once the whole business is over with. Sure, they won. And sure, Christine honestly was the best future for the people they've grown to care for over the years since they were first assigned to New Orleans. But the stairway to hell is paved on good intentions...

He shook off the thoughts and focused again on his current predicament. Some of the restaurant owners were bucking from the newly minted Association, and they were facing opposition from the mayor's office already about her bold proposals for government transparency.

His cell buzzed, a text from Christine. _Come by the Cave._ Sven smirked, remembering when they found that hole-in-the-wall bar. She knew he didn't drink like that, but then they wouldn't be meeting for drinks.

Sven threw on his rumbled coat jacket, chucking the rest of the MSG slop on his way out. He jumped in his old hatchback and drove the half-empty streets to the bar. It was what, 2am? It never seemed to matter. Something was always going on, and the city never quite felt deserted. It's a blessing to see how the community has rebounded since those desperate years. Tourists have been flocking to the party meccas, of course, but Sven avoided their turf as a general rule. They weren't voters, after all.

Sven sauntered into the bar, not even acknowledging the bartendress on his way to their usual table, isolated in the back. Christine was waiting for him, smirking at his entrance as always, and offered him a beer. Sven accepted it and drank heartily, although he knew he'd probably not have another tonight.

"How's the Restaurant Association going?" She asked, more as a formality than an actual question.

"Fine, fine. We may lose a few, but honestly they know the future - if they don't stand together, we'll be drowning in McDonald's and Chipotles by the year's end."

"Well, Sven, I know how much you hate the attention, but I wanted to give you something. Think of it as... a reward, for all the hard work you've put into the campaign. And, really, for everything - I wouldn't have stayed here if it weren't for you, much less won the council seat!"

Ugh. He never understood how people liked getting rewards and such. It turned all that achievement, all that effort, into tiny trinkets and useless ribbons. His reward was the change he had wrought, his trophy the history being written in his wake. Christine knew this, but she just thought he was being bashful.

"Christine, you _know_ that I-"

"Yes, yes, I know. But this is different. Come on, have a seat."

Sven pulled up a chair, as Christine placed an old wooden box on the table in front of him. "Go ahead, open it!"

It was an old box, but on closer inspection Sven realized it was actually quite fine in its craftsmanship. It has a gold band going around it, and despite heavy wear and tear the oak was still good, solid, and somehow... warm. He lifted the hinged lid, and inside was a gorgeously maintained Smith and Wesson revolver. He didn't know guns very well, but he knew this looked to be a beaut.

"Wow, Christine. I don't even know what to say. How much was this? I can't accept something like this. I don't even have a permit!"

"Don't worry about it, we'll get the paperwork processed easy. But I want you to look at it closely. It is a precious thing, I actually inherited it from my father, long ago, and I think it's time I pass it on to you. It's not like I'm having kids any time soon!"

Christine was no spring chicken, but Sven knew she was on her early fifties. Taking the gun out, a little wary of the inattentive bartendress, he felt the heft of the revolver - very sturdy indeed! The handle was of highly polished... bone? Was that bone? Ivory? And it has a "T" carved in the grip. Or was it an arrow, pointing upwards?

"It's a _Tiwaz_ rune," she clarified as he felt along the carving. "It stands for... it stands for Victory. And after our victory, I can think of no more fitting reward."

"Christine, I... I don't know what to say. Thank you." Something about that symbol. Something tugging at his thoughts. He felt like he knew it from somewhere, but he couldn't quite place from where. Obviously it was a Nordic rune, or Viking, or whatever. Despite his namesake, he wasn't very in touch with his roots, raised by adoptive parents of a more English bent.

"Well, anyways, I'd best be off. I've got a council meeting in the morning."

"Wait! How do I, you know, take care of it?" Sven asked distractedly, still staring at that rune.

"There's a cleaning kit under the felt, I've been polishing it once a month for 20 years. Oh, and by the way - it's name is Hand of Justice."

Despite his protests, Christine had given Sven another gift - a week off. Despite his protests, and despite the protests he engineered from the staff.

Ugh. A whole week.

Oh well, he had bought some intriguing shrooms from the Silk Road that he'd been meaning to try. He didn't trip often - in fact, he hadn't had time for such a luxury during his whole tenure at FEMA, meaning it had been, jeez, 10 years now? Sure he'd been smoking weed this whole time, drug testing being a thing of the past for government employees, and the occasional whiff of DMT was what the doctor ordered when he was feeling too embroiled in reality.

He started his preparations. Spent the morning relaxing, fasting, hydrating, reflecting. Put his headphones on, filling his senses with Alt-J, Glitchmob, and the like. Started brewing the tea, almost a ritual despite being out of practice. His office may look like it was still awaiting FEMA assistance, but his spartan apartment was easy to clean. And finally, when he felt ready, he calmly drank the several cups of tea and settled down for the ride.

At first, a little bit of screwiness - the entry was sometimes rough, although this strain was a lot smoother than others. But then The Groove hit and the knick-knack brickabrack give a dog a bone in the apartment started their merry dancing.

I always forget how much I miss this state. There's always that little bit of trepidation before diving in, or trip a day, son, I'm going in, but once you're home your home is homey. Or horny? No not horny, not since Marjorie-

Bah, stop it, you're here to unwind. Unwhinge, unhinge even.

Let's wander about, wonder about what? The mirror - the mirror in my mind, in front of me. But not me? Who... is he?

As I looked into the mirror, my reflection was not what I was expecting - and grew all the more unexpecteder. My short goatee grew like weeds into a bushy beard, tied in crazy designs as a tree's exposed roots. My shoulders and arms swelled into unbelievable, unachievable rippliness, my belly tightened to Atlassian proportion. And my right hand-

My right hand is SHORN OFF! Bloody, dripping meat where my hand ought to be. And looking away from the mirror in horror, I see my hand truly is missing! Pulsing, angry meat. And a searing pain rushed through me, bringing me to my knees. No! I've never had a bad trip! Control yourself! CONTROL YOUR-

Sven blinked open his eyes. His heart was racing, sweat dripping from every pore. He forced himself to calm. Focused straight ahead, gathering his wits and reminding himself that experiential reality was not absolute reality, especially in his current state. Finally, after a few minutes of breathing exercises, he calmly lifted his right hand and - his hand was still there, unharmed.

"Ohkaaayyyyyy... Well that was fun." He said to no one in particular. He unsteadily got up and went to the fridge to get that pineapple he'd been saving. He was still tripping hard, but that phase had passed and he was feeling far more mobile than before.

On his way to the kitchen he passed by the mirror again - and again his reflection was not his own. He resolutely ignored it, got the pineapple, and ate them in the kitchenette, his back to the mirror.

"Stop it. Go away. I'm on vacation." He said to the reflection.

And the reflection... _chuckled._

Sven stopped eating the pineapple.

"Sven, my child, you have an odd choice in vacational vocations." The voice was calm, but somehow full of force - like rolling thunder, not yet cresting into deafening roar.

"Ummm... Well, you know. Disney tickets being what they are." _Who am I talking to?_

"Turn around already, I shan't allow that vision to occur again."

Sven coolly turned to face the mirror. Or told himself he did it coolly, shaking as he was.

"OK, so what. Am I so troubled by something I'm splitting my personality now? Who are you supposed to be, the incarnation of - let me guess - my desire to know my birth parents rising as some sort of father-figure to guide me through dark times?"

The reflection seemed taken aback, then wrinkled his nose and laughed all the mightier.

"You are far closer to the truth than you know! Hahahaha, your sister sure chose you well!"

Sven's heart turned cold. His sister had died in a car accident when he was only 12. He always felt a pain of remorse that he couldn't somehow prevent it, and never really got close with anyone since losing his best friend.

"No, no, not that sister. She rests well, have no fear - and stop blaming yourself for Acts of God. At least, Acts of God that have befallen so far.

"I speak of Christine, my dearest daughter. She has served me well these few decades, but she has chosen to pass her mantle on to you. And in these times, younger blood is perhaps the wiser stone to cast."

Sven's mind was racing. Where was his subconscious coming up with all this yammering? Why was he trying to form a family bond with his boss? Sure he loved and protected her like family - in fact, considering his dull parents and brutish brother, probably held her in higher regard than that. But she was way too old to be a sister. Why not just assign her the mother role? That seems a lot more Freudian.

"You still aren't understanding, because you try too hard to understand. But it matters little. Do you know who I am?"

Sven cleared his mind, following the advice of the apparition. And all of a sudden that wooden box, the gift from Christine, flashed brilliantly in his mind's eye.

"Yes! Now you've got it! I think you'll suit our purposes quite well, quite well indeed!" Another hearty laugh, this time shaking the tiny apartment.

"I've one more gift for you, before you start your Trials. You wanted to go to Disney, well - let your Conscience be your Guide!"

And suddenly - the apparition disappeared. The mirror just showed Sven's reflection again - his pupils dilated to a ridiculous degree. His goatee was back, his short, unkempt red-blonde hair back to its non-epic length, his hands, well, _not_ missing.

"Well this is another fine mess you've gotten me into," Sven said out loud, and giggled manically at the quote. He let the trip continue on its way, bringing him back to the sofa with pineapple in hand.

He felt something wet on the side of his neck, and wiped at it. _Blood_

"GODDAMMIT STOP FUCKING WITH ME!" He screamed, finally getting frustrated with this far too turbulent trip. He ran back to the mirror, and saw that it was only a few drops of blood, dripping from his left ear.

His newly pierced left ear, with a stud permanently embedded. And the tip of the stud was a tip of bone, sharp as all hell.

Sven finally had it. He smoked several large bong hits to calm his nerves, even though he might as well be drinking water in his current state. He put his earphones on, switched to the classical playlist, and curled up in bed. The rest of the night he had nothing but lazy, anodyne fractals floating in his mind's eye, but he didn't get to sleep until much later in the night.

Sven awoke with a start. His sheets were soaked in sweat, despite his poor air conditioner's best efforts.

He laid in bed, staring at his ceiling, not wanting to do what he knew he needed to do next.

 _Well, there's a first time for everything,_ he thought, checking off "bad trip" from his bucket list. Finally he cautiously explored his left ear with his fingers - and felt the alien stud, cold against his fingers even though he couldn't feel it in his ear.

Ugh.

He clambered out of bed, took a quick shower, and got to internetting. First, that symbol on the gun. I obviously had picked it out of some history class I had taken, or maybe something from my occult phase during college. What had she called it? Tirwas?

He found it - _Tiwaz._ Wikipedia article and everything. The symbol of some Norse god named Tyr. A rune that ensures victory in battle, granted by valkyries.

He kept idly fiddling with his new jewelry, pushing back how to deal with this impossibility until he answered some of the easier questions.

"Ow!"

 _Damn, that bone was sharp._ He had pricked his finger on it, a small droplet of blood forming on the tip of his index finger.

 _Hi Sven._ Christine's voice came suddenly, and he could just hear the giant grin she was wearing as she said it.

"Christine?!" Sven yelped, turning around, looking for the source of her voice.

 _Yeah, hey Sven. Stop for a second, pretend we're on the phone. We've got some ground to cover._

 _Oh okay. I'm just still tripping... somehow. Hi, Imaginary Christine!_

::Knock Knock::

Sven, startled, went to his door and looked through the peephole.

Christine.

He quickly opened the door, and she shone a bright smile.

"Tripping? What _have_ you been up to?" She grinned all the wider, knowing how uncomfortable Sven would be at this breach of work etiquette.

"Oh, hi, Christine. I'm, umm... I'm feeling a little confused. Sorry, what day is it? Was I supposed to be in work?" Sven fumbled for his cellphone to see if he's been missing messages - and to assure himself of the date. Nope, next day, haven't gone all Rip van Winkle.

"I see you've gotten yourself some jewelry."

 _Ok, she was enjoying this. Time to stop stammering and start controlling the situation._

"Yeah. So. Let me go out on a limb here. If I'm talking nonsense, I'll remind you I'm currently on vacation.

"You're my sister. And that gun you gave me has some mystic powers or some shit. And... and it fucking pierced my ear somehow. Did I shoot myself with it or something while I was - while I was vacationing? And our father is Scandinavian or something. And... and the earring has a.. bluetooth microphone..." Sven muttered off as he realized how fantastical this all sounded.

"Well, that's pretty damn close, actually. But the stud isn't bluetooth. Prick your finger on it and you'll, let's say, speed dial me." Sven just stared at her, slightly agape, as he processed this presented reality.

"It's made of the same tooth as the hilt on my gun - your gun. Fenrir's tooth." _Fenrir? What the hell is a Fenrir?_

"Also, our dad isn't Scandinavian. Well, he is, but he's a lot more than that. Have you ever heard of Tyr?"

* * *

Twylla moved back a few feet so she could better see all of it. Ah, yes...there was a gap just there, in the top tier..

Humming a merry tune to herself, she sped downward, cool water caressing her body. Her hair fanned out behind her, hovering in the water like a great, crimson cape. Looking down past her tail at the reefs below, she scanned intently for what she needed. Aha! There it was - a giant clam. She drifted to the nook where the great mollusk sat and gently stroked and prodded at the sensitive flesh along the shell's edge. Slowly, it opened to reveal a glistening pearl the size of a basketball. It shone with all the colors of the ocean, soft blues and greens and pinks.

"Thank you!" she patted the shell before she lifted the pearl out, the great thing almost too heavy for her to carry.

As she turned to swim back, a figure appeared from behind a stand of seaweed. Or, at least, he may have been by the seaweed. Who knows? One minute he wasn't there and the next, he was. He was a bald man with skin as dark as ebony. He wore a simple pair of overalls over a sturdy, plaid shirt. His eyes and mouth crinkled happily as he smiled at Twylla, watching her gather her materials.

Twylla tilted her head and looked at him curiously, unperturbed by his appearance in her dream. After all, dreams are dreams and who knows what or who will appear? Besides, the man felt... _right._ She couldn't put a finger on what it was about him, but he felt familiar, like...home...family...

"Shouldn't you have a tail to better swim?" she pointed out with a smile.

"Ah! So I should," the man said with a chuckle. His clothes disappeared and he morphed, his legs fusing together and scales appearing on his newly formed tail. The scales were black as the night sky, with the edges trimmed in silver. His lower half looked akin to the night sky shining with stars.

"Much better!" Twylla grinned and turned, darting back towards her project.

"What are you building, daughter?" the man asked, easily catching up to her and swimming by her side.

"A garden. Look!" she said as they rose over a reef. There, just across the rise, stood a great, tiered garden. Fantastical plants waved in the water, some obviously from the real world (or, at least, inspired by them) and others that were obviously the stuff of dreams. Light filtered through the water from above, dancing across leaves and petals of every shape and color. Every tier held a different plant, each arranged beautifully, heights and colors complementing each other so that it was a dazzling display.

Each tier was shored up by a wall made of pearl. On the uppermost pier, there was a gap that still needed to be filled. Twylla swam up to it and placed her newly acquired pearl into the space. She opened her palms, pressed against it and the pearl seemed to take on the consistency of clay. Still humming contently, she molded the pearl to fit the wall, creating a opalescent barrier to hold back the earth.

"It's beautiful!" the man laughed, delighted. "May I help?"

"Of course! What else do you think we should do?" Twylla flipped over in the water so that she was hanging above her guest's head, regarding him and the garden thoughtfully. The fact that he had called her 'daughter' earlier did not even register. After all...dreams are dreams...though, this one seemed amazingly lucid...

"Hmmm. I believe that your underwater garden needs some life! Perhaps some fish live here?" he reached out to the water surrounding them and pulled in a swirling handful of water that solidified to ice. He ran his hands over it, smoothing it until it took on the shape of a silvery-blue fish. He breathed lightly upon it and, suddenly, it sprang to life in his hand, swimming away into the foliage.

Laughing, Twylla follows suit and begins to pull forth different materials to create fish of her own. Before long, eels are born from long strands of seaweed, fish with flowing fins are made from sea flower petals, fish of all colors and sizes crafted into existence and set free into the garden.

After a while, the dark-skinned man stops creating and sighs, "As much fun as I am having, my daughter, I'm afraid the time for play must end. I have come for a more serious reason."

"Daughter...you keep calling me that. Who are you?" Twylla settles upon a boulder and stretches out, lounging in the saltwater.

"I am Ptah. And I call you my daughter because that is who you are," he smiles softly and swishes his tail, coming to rest beside the boulder.

"Ptah...Ptah...oh! The Egyptian god of creation. Huh...I haven't thought about Ptah since school," she muses, still caught in the notion that this is naught but a surprisingly lucid dream.

Ptah smiles indulgently, knowing that she'll understand the truth of things shortly, "Twylla, soon there is going to be a war over Earth and its fate. This will not be your battle, though. You are not a warrior, I know. Few of my children ever are. But you do have a vibrant imagination and a drive to create. This is something that will be needed when the battle is over and the world will need to recover."

Twylla regards Ptah with an amused smile, "And what am I supposed to do after a battle? Program the world to be better?"

"You will find a way, daughter. Do not sell yourself short!" Ptah reaches out to pat Twylla's shoulder. "And you won't be alone. There will be others who will help the world recover. Your talents and theirs, together, will start the process of healing."

From somewhere, Ptah produces a ring and choker. He takes Twylla's hand and carefully places the golden band upon her finger, a glittering ring engraved with the image of a sacred bull, legs outstretched as though running. He then reaches up to tie the choker around her neck. It bears Ptah's symbol, the scepter of dominion.

"These gifts will help you access your divine blood. Use them well and wisely," Ptah leans forward and kisses her forehead. "Now, wake up, Twylla. You have much to do."

Twylla sighs contently, slowly waking from her slumber. Gentle, morning light filters into her bedroom through thin, breezy curtains. She rolls over and looks at the clock. 10AM. Taking a deep breath, she stretches and yawns before snuggling back down into the mattress for five more minutes.

Finally, her stomach rumbles. She scratches at her thigh while she considers exactly _how_ hungry she is. Another insistent tummy tremor convinces her that she really ought to get out of bed and eat. Sadly, she has no magical butler who will sweep in and place a tray of delicious breakfast in her lap.

 _Curse you, fate and student loans,_ she grumbles to herself. _T'weren't for you, I'd be rich!_

She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and stands. As she leans forward to push herself up, something tickles her neck. Without thinking, she reaches up to scratch at it and encounters something cool and metallic...a pendant?

 _I don't remember going to sleep with my jewelry on,_ she thinks. She mentally shrugs, figuring that she must have and simply forgot. She lowers her hand and catches a glimpse of gold on her finger. Now _that_ startles her, slightly. _I don't own any gold..._

Lifting her hand, she sees a ring. It is a lovely thing, crafted into a delicate band engraved with an Egyptian-style running bull.

"Wait..." Twylla gasps. Her dream. She remembers all of it as vividly as if she lived it. There is no fog that slowly obscures the details, as would normally happen upon waking. She clearly remembers Ptah giving her this ring. She remembers the garden, the conversation...everything.

"No, no, no, no..." she jumps up, fully alert now, and rushes to the bathroom. Wide-eyed, she stares into the mirror, her gaze fixed upon the tiny scepter of dominion that hangs at the base of her throat.

Gasping, she pulls off the ring and choker, tossing them to the floor and running to the bed. She jumps onto the mattress and stares at the jewelry where it landed just outside the bathroom door, regarding them as though they were snakes poised to strike.

"They're real. It was real. Or...not? Am I losing my mind?" she mutters to herself. "There's proof right there. They're real and I didn't buy them. They came out of my dream. _They came out of my fucking dream!_ "

Twylla scrambles across the bed to grab her phone and call...who? Who, exactly, is she going to call? Sophie? Her mom? She's fairly certain that, at first, Mom would reassure her that it was just a dream but, what about the jewelry? That's hard proof that it wasn't simply a case of runaway imagination.

Clasping the phone to her chest, Twylla leans back against the headboard and thinks, "Okay, let's just figure this out. What if it's true? What if I am Ptah's kid? What does that mean? What am I supposed to do? He said there would be a battle but that I wasn't meant to fight. I guess I'm meant to help rebuild. How will I know what to do?" Twylla taps the back of the phone that she still clutches as if it were a lifeline to the real world. "If there's a battle...I guess it'll be obvious. Maybe? I don't know!"

"Argh!" frustrated, she slips back down into her bed and pulls the covers over her head. "I wish I had someone to talk to..."

She crawls under the covers and pokes her head out from under, once again facing the jewelry. She regards them silently. _Ptah seemed nice. He felt like...family. Which, ya know...duh! If he's my dad, then that's expected._

Chewing at her bottom lip, she finally gets out of bed and picks up the ring and pendant. As she holds them in her hand, she feels comforted. They are warm and solid and calming, like the very earth itself. She puts them back on and it feels...right.

"Okay, Dad. So, what now?" she sighs and looks about the room. Again, her stomach complains and, for just a moment, she can imagine she hears Ptah's rich, amused voice say, _Food first! Then, we shall see._

* * *

The chirping sound of a cheap alarm clock echoed through the mostly empty studio apartment from its place on an end table. A groan emanated from the futon next to the end table and an arm reached out from the blankets, fumbling to snooze the alarm. "Shit," Sebastian cursed as the clock clattered to the floor, still issuing its merry chirp. He crawled further out of the blankets straining to reach the treacherous box. "Double shit," he cursed again as his weight tilted the futon up on two legs and dumped him unceremoniously on the wood floor. At least the alarm was silent now.

For a few minutes Sebastian considered retreating back into slumber right there on the floor. The cold wood pressed against his bare chest broke through his haze just enough to let his brain remember that it was jump day. With another groan and a litany of curses, he pushed himself off the ground and worked to extract himself from the blankets that had ensnared his ankles. He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and flicked the TV on so he could hear the weather report while he got ready.

"No more bar nights the night before jump day," he groaned for sixth or seventh time this year alone. He popped open a bottle of water and stumbled into the bathroom. The bathroom was small and utilitarian, little more than a short hall with a sink, a toilet, and just enough room to stand. Opposite the door was a positively tiny standing shower, just barely big enough for a single adult. He took a pair of aspirin out his medicine cabinet and drained the bottle. As the cabinet's door swung closed, he got a good look in the mirror.

His hair, normally tied back in a neat pony-tail, was a mess with half of it plastered to the side of his face, probably by drool. He needed to shave, his face bristled with stubble alongside is normal goatee. A faint bruise outlined his left eye, a shiner he heard earned in a brawl at the bar. A group of frat boys had been a little too aggressive in their courting of a pair of ladies. He had told them in not-so-polite terms to fuck off. A short fight had broken out, resulting in the black eye for him, one of the boys being hauled out by his two friends, and the lady's able to enjoy the rest of their evening in peace. The bruise was healing well; probably would be gone by this time tomorrow.

A quick shower later, and a pair of Clif bars and Sebastian felt like a human being again. He started to get dressed while keeping an eye on the TV. The weather report warned that some thunderstorms were rolling in later this evening, but the jump time was well before the weather was expected to turn bad. He pulled on his usual: a pair of urban camo cargo pants and a white v-neck shirt. Over the shirt he pulled on one of his royal blue work shirts but didn't button it up. On each sleeve, a white eye had been embroidered with a gray hurricane symbol inside the blue iris where a pupil should be. Under the eye, in neat gold letters was a single word: Stormwatch.

He reached to grab the last piece of his ensemble from atop the dresser. It was necklace with a very large shark's tooth hanging from a simple leather cord. On either side of the tooth, two dark wooden beads adorned the cord. Each bead had a different Japanese character, Kanji if Sebastian remembered correctly, engraved in it. Sebastian had researched the symbols to know their meaning. From right to left the symbols read Duty, Endurance, Intellect, and Valor; virtues he believed in at least. As he fumbled with the clasp, Sebastian thought back to how he'd come to possess such a unique piece of jewelry.

It had been right at the start of his freshman year at the University of New Orleans. The year was off to an interesting start with the threat of Katrina looming. Classes had been cancelled so Sebastian had wandered out to the coast to get a better look at the on-coming storm. The place had been pretty deserted. While he was watching the approaching cloud wall, a colorful flash in the surf caught his attention. He turned his attention to it just in time to see a lone surfer wipeout and get pulled under by the rip tide.

Without hesitation, Sebastian had ran down the beach, shedding excess clothing, and dove into the surf. He reached the unconscious surfer in minutes, with help from the rip tide, and got his head above water. Sebastian was relieved to see the surfer as still breathing. Even still, with the current constantly trying to pull him further out it took almost an hour to drag the surfer back to shore. When he finally came to, the man, apparently also of Japanese descent, introduced himself as Su and gave Sebastian the necklace in return for saving his life. Sebastian had worn it ever since.

Settling the necklace, Sebastian was ready. He turned the TV off, grabbed his gear, and headed out to meet the rest of the Stormwatch.

The Stormwatch was the name of Sebastian's crew. They were a team of professional storm chasers operating out of New Orleans, employed by the Weather Channel. Of primary concern was gathering data on tropical activity, usually by flying at relatively low altitudes directly through tropical events. It was a dangerous job, but the team was well trained and there were few better pilots than Sebastian when it came to navigating a storm.

Sebastian was the last one to arrive at the rendezvous point, as per usual. They were meeting at a cafe near Gold Coast Skydiving for lunch before their jump. Ryan Kingsley was the first one to notice Sebastain's purple Accord to pull into a parking space, and waved him over. Ryan was the youngest and newest member of the crew. Thin, to the point of bordering on scrawny, with round glasses and short brown hair, he looked every bit the stereotypical nerd. Ryan had proven he was more than meets the eye though when he had been an intern on the team by constantly keeping a cool head in the face of danger. Now as an official member of the team, his technical expertise proved vital and he kept their systems running smoothly, possibly even optimally.

Sebastian strode over to Ryan and gave him a firm handshake. "Big day today, kiddo," he said as they grasped hands, "First solo jump. Nervous?"

Ryan returned a wiry smile, his brown eyes sparkling, "Nervous? After flying with you it will take a lot more than jumping out of a plane to make me worry."

"Good man!" Sebastian exclaimed, wrapping his arm around Ryan's shoulder and walking him back to the rest of the crew just in time to see Robert Wilkins setting a sky blue cake on the table. In the center of the cake, a skydiver had been rendered in frosting, vaguely in Ryan's likeness. The skydiver was framed by icing etched words celebrating Ryan's first solo jump.

"Normally, we'd eat the cake after such an event," Rob spoke with a hearty voice, "but seeing as how this is an ice cream cake, I didn't think it would wait. Dig in!" He passed Ryan the cake knife so that the man of the hour could get the first piece. Sebastian took the time to exchange a handshake and hug with Rob. Rob was a tall man, tallest of the group at roughly six feet, eight inches. His long blond hair was tied back in tight ponytail and his ridiculous Hawaiian shirt spoke volumes about his laid back personality. He served as the cinematographer and photographer of their crew and spent his free time planning parties for every occasion. Like this one.

"Where's Johnny?" Sebastian asked, noticing the lack of Rob's boyfriend. Johnny wasn't officially part of the Stormwatchers, but him and Rob were normally inseparable.

Rob shook his head and sighed, "Poor guy picked up the stomach bug that has been going around his office. After he spent forty-five minutes on the toilet we decided it was probably best if he stayed home." Rob waved his hand in front of his nose as if to disperse a foul smell and laughed.

"I keep tellin' him," Kylia Cota chimed in from the opposite side of the table, "That desk job is gonna be the death of him. He needs to get more active." Kylia put down her fork and wiped her hands on her coveralls. A little trail of the blue frosting mingled with the countless grease stains. She grimaced and shook her head, her cornrow braids whipping back and forth. Kylia was the team's mechanic, one of the best. She stood up and gave Sebastian a little salute, "We still on for sparring practice this afternoon?"

Sebastian nodded and pointed to his still bruised eye, "Clearly I need it. Can't believe that punk actually managed to land a hit." Kylia was a MMA fighter in her free time and regularly kicked his ass on the sparring field. It was good practice though and usually a ton of fun. Sebastian looked around and noticed someone was missing. "Where's Diana? Please tell me I got here before her!" he asked the group with a chuckle.

"Like that would ever happen, hot shot," a woman's voice called mockingly from behind him. He turned to see Diana strolling up from the back of the restaurant and putting her phone away, adjusting her red hair back into its normal bob. "Matt called and had some wedding planning questions." She explained, motioning to the phone.

Sebastian felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of Diana's fiance. That isn't fair to her, he thought to himself, you blew any chance with her a long time ago. Diana was his oldest friend of the group, his co-pilot, and in charge of the team's finances. She had expressed her love for him back in college, after they nearly died when a near miss from a tornado threw the truck they were in a good hundred feet. He had freaked out, rejecting her before his brain had even processed the event, and that was that. Their friendship had recovered and together they managed to get the Stormwatch off the ground after they graduated. He had never worked up the courage to tell her how he really felt back in college and it was far too late now.

Out loud he simply chuckled. "That makes more sense. If I had beat you hear it would be a sure sign of the apocalypse," he said with a wink, "Now let's eat this cake before it melts!" Chorus of agreement greeted these words as everyone settled in to eat. Boisterous cheers from the team periodically, drawing scowls from the other patrons. Just another day for the Stormwatch.

A little over an hour later and the crew was airborne and suited up. As they neared the drop zone, Sebastian couldn't help but feel uneasy. It wasn't the prospect of the jump itself that was worrying him; he had hundreds of jumps on record. Something was definitely wrong, though. Not wanting to worry his compatriots, he kept a smile on his face but also kept an eye open.

The pilot signalled the all clear and one by one the team lined up to jump. Sebastian took the place at the end of the line as the trepidation grew. Diana was out first, a simple and practical jump to get clear. Rob followed with an exaggerated dive. Kylia's back-flip out the door left just Ryan and Sebastian.

As Ryan grabbed the hand holds on either side, Sebastian's sense flared with danger. Ryan turned to wink to him and that was when he saw it. The buckles on either side of Ryan's chute were heavily worn and starting to crack. Before he could shout a warning Ryan was out the door with a whoop of joy. Without hesitation, Sebastian dived out the door after him.

Ryan had his limbs splayed to slow his descent and offer him an impressive vista of the world below. Sebastian kept his diver's aerodynamic form and swiftly caught up with the young man. Ryan's surprise at seeing Sebastian zooming towards him widening into fearful understanding as Sebastian frantically pantomimed the warning. As if to punctuate Sebastian's message, the left buckle chose that moment to snap. Ryan reacted quickly to the danger, stretching out to grab the wayward strap, but moments later the second sheared away. The wind ripped Ryan's pack from him with a sickening crack, sending him tumbling, his right arm hanging at an odd angle.

Sebastian cursed vehemently as he drifted after Ryan's unconscious body. The man's right arm had broken with the pack was ripped free, the pain must have been too much for him to bear. Sebastian reached out and stabilized Ryan's spin. Working quickly, he managed to rip the sleeve off his own suit and securely tie Ryan's limp arm against his body. He then carefully unbuckled his own chute, before wrestling it on his friend's body and securing it. If he could maintain his grip they might just both survive this. No sooner had this thought crossed his mind, when a particularly strong gust sent them spinning, flinging Sebastian one way and Ryan the other.

Now in freefall with no chute, Sebastian's brain kicked into survival mode. There was no panic, just a cold calculating logic. Ryan was too far away to intercept now. Even unconscious, the chute should still deploy when he got below a certain point. Ryan would probably survive. Without a chute of his own Sebastian was much less likely to. Looking below him, he saw one of New Orleans several lakes just a little off to his right. He could probably angle to land in the water. He tried to calculate his odds of survival with what he could remember from physics and anatomy. The answer was… unlikely. "It would take a miracle," he muttered to himself.

"Did I hear somebody ask for a miracle?" a raucous voice called out from behind him.

Startled, Sebastian spun around in the air to see a man falling behind him. The man was of Asian descent, with a sharp goatee and long hair, wild in the whipping wind. He wasn't a skydiver though. He seemed to be wearing only a pair of white knee length swim trunks with a stylized eight headed dragon pattern on one leg. Unbelievably, he was laying back on a white surf board as if reclining in gentle waves and not hurtling towards an untimely demise. Even more unbelievably, Sebastian recognized him. "Su?' he sputtered incredulously.

The man's eyes lit up and he let out a clap. "So glad you remember me!" the man, Su, exclaimed. "Though technically my full name is Susano-O, Shinto God of Storm and Sea. And…" the man put his hands to his mouth and made a deep echoing breathing sound before continuing, "I am your father."

Susano-O, Shinto God, father? these thoughts swirled around in Sebastian's head. He fought to make sense of it all. Gods aren't real, his brain screamed, this is just a hallucination brought on by my imminent death. Another part of him, however, knew it was true. The man had a presence, an almost palpable aura that emanated from him. It spoke of power and chaos, like the raging storm.

"Search your feelings you know it to be true," Susano-O continued in a reasonably close approximation of Vader's classic lines. Despite himself, Sebastian nodded. "Excellent. Our current venue doesn't give me time to explain everything in detail so for any pressing questions go speak with the man that resides here. The old man knows a great deal of what most mortals have forgotten." Susano-O reached out a hand. Sebastian took what was handed to him and stared at the trinket. It appeared to be a laminated card or bookmark of some sort with the words "Inari's Temple" written on the front and an address on the back. A silk ribbon was threaded through a hole punched in the card and a tear-drop shaped piece of blue stone hung from the other end.

As he stared at the card, Susano-O continued, "The necklace I gave you last time we met is a relic that holds the key to half of your power in it. The tooth is from the dragon Orochi and it holds the power of the chaotic seas within it." Sebastian touched the tooth beneath his jump and felt the touch of power there where before there had been only a feeling of comfort.

"There is a storm coming, son, and it is not one of my making. There are some in this city, scions of other gods, who are aware of it as well. Seek them out, ride the storm together, and together rebuild. My final gift to you is this," the god spoke more formally now, his cavalier attitude from before gone, and rose one hand towards the sky. A silent flash of lightning temporarily blinded Sebastian and when he could see again, he found a sheathed sword resting in his hands, warm to the touch. It was a traditional Japanese sword, a katana, but it buzzed with power. It's handle was wrapped in blue ribbons, with a matching blue scabbard. Engraved in gold upon the scabbard was a single character. Susano-O spoke once more, "This sword is called Arashi, or "Storm" in English. With it the sky is yours to command. Use it to save yourself, and perhaps the world. Good luck, Sebastian-chan." With those words, the god was gone.

Moving carefully despite the rushing wind and ever nearing lake, Sebastian slowly drew the blade. Black steel with golden lightning bolts greeted him as well as an immense sense of power. Acting on instinct, he gripped the sword tightly and reached out to it with his mind. The water's surface was only a few hundred meters below now. He poured his will into the blade and felt himself slow. Less than a hundred meters now. He gathered wind about himself and slowed further. One hundred feet to go. He hit the water hard enough to knock the wind from him, like a belly-flop from the high board, but he would live.

Reflexively Sebastian inhaled, realizing too late that he was still under water. The water rushed into his lungs, filling them as if he was laying on a beach, not ten feet below the surface. The tooth, Sebastian realized with a smile, feeling his necklace pressed against his skin, I can breathe under water. That'll be a great party trick. He broke the surface of the lake, sheathed the sword, and began the slow and painful swim to shore.

The day's promised storms had rolled in by the time Sebastian dragged himself onto the shore. Probably for the best, he mused, at least there are a lot less people on the streets. Would be kinda hard to explain the sword. And I certainly don't need to get arrested right now. He picked a street and started walking, limping slightly and using the sheathed blade as an improvised cane.

He wandered the streets on auto-pilot, not paying attention to where he was actually going. His thoughts preoccupied trying to make sense of the day's events. If it wasn't for the fact that he was still holding the sword, he would have sworn the whole thing of as a hallucination from his imminent death. He had survived, which while unlikely, wouldn't have been completely impossible. The sword was still there, however; a constant tingling presence in his hand, not unlike the feeling of nearby static.

He wasn't sure how long he was lost in thought, but came to as the storm-clouded sky darkened even more. "I should probably call the crew and tell them I'm alive. Also make sure Ryan's okay," he muttered to himself. He didn't have a cell phone or even his wallet on him. All of that would be tucked away in his change of clothes in his car. He looked around, but in the dim light and rain he wasn't sure what part of town he was in. His eyes settled on a sign with of a fortune teller's shop with the lights on. "Maybe they have a phone I can use," he muttered and began walking up the stairs.

Maybe Madame Sanura is one of those blind fortune tellers, he thought with a slight smile, that would save me from explaining why I look like a zombie paratrooper. His amethyst and gold jumpsuit was soaked, mud-stained, and ripped in several places. He had lost his hair tie when he hit the water, leaving his hair matted to his head. He shrugged and moved to knock on the door.

The grey cat mewed in dismay as he watched the waterlogged human trudge towards their door. _Wet monkey...smells funny...going to stay dry._ He hopped down from the windowsill and briefly rubbed up against Kenaris leg before running into the back rooms.

"Coward," Kenari mumbles as she grabs two towels out of the bathroom and uses one to cover the chair set aside for customers.

There's a knock on the door and she smiles in the mirror as she makes sure her appearance and accouterments are in place. She glances at the dagger in it's gilded sheath and with a bite of her bottom lip slips it into her boot. Better safe than sorry when your customers drag themselves out of the sea.

"The future waits for us all," she calls out as she grabs the other towel and glances through the peep hole. _Strange... definitely not what I expected. Maybe a near-death experience caused him to suddenly believe?_ As she takes a breath her nose wrinkles with a sudden scent of cherry blossoms and the sea that causes her to take a step back. _This is definitely an odd one... but we can't get answers unless we ask questions..._

After the second knock she opens the door with her best seductive smile before handing him a towel. "Welcome, soggy traveler. Dry yourself off and we'll see if your future holds more than pneumonia."

"I was hop... " Sebastian started to say as the door opened, but the fortune teller's words and tone cut that thought short. "Thank you," he said instead when he noticed the towel. He took it with his left hand, looked around a moment, and then dropped the sword into an umbrella rack near the door. _Hopefully she didn't recognize the three foot long weapon as such_, he thought as he began to towel off as best he could before crossing the threshold. The towel smelled clean with a hint of incense that he didn't recognize, which was admittedly pretty much all of them.

"I'm afraid I don't have any money to pay for a reading or anything," he said, his voice a bit hoarse, though whether that was because of the rain or the proximity of the strange woman he wasn't sure. Based on previous experience, he would place money on it being the latter. "I was sky-diving with some friends when I…uh," he paused considering his words, "I was blown off course. I was hoping I could use your phone to call my friends and let them know I'm okay." He kept his eyes averted while he spoke, trying to look like he was taking in the room. He was a terrible liar, and while it wasn't exactly a lie, he wasn't really sure how he was going to explain himself if pressed.

"Darling, I think the story of how you crawled out of the sea in what is most definitely not a swimsuit and decided to come to me instead of a bar payphone is going to be worth the price of admission," Kenari replies with a wave of her hand and sway of her hips as she walks through the beaded curtain to sit at her table.

"Come now, and tell me why you're _really_ here... and then you can use my phone to call your friends." She sets her cell phone on the table next to a black wooden box inscribed with silver hieroglyphs.

Sebastian hesitated for a moment, eyeing the phone. Then he shrugged and sat down. He ripped off a dangling strip of his suit and tied his hair back as he started talking. "Technically it was a lake, not the sea. And you can call me Sebastian. Like I said before, my friends and I were skydiving earlier today. One of my friends had a catastrophic failure of his chute so I gave him mine." He pointed a finger at the woman when she looked like she might say something, "It is not as stupid as it sounds. He was unconscious and those chutes can easily handle two people. I had planned do the rest of the fall tandem. The wind didn't cooperate though, and separated us before I could secure myself. I was too far to get back to him and the rest of the crew, so I angled for the lake, though I wasn't really expecting that to save me."

Sebastian hesitated again, wrestling with himself on how to explain what happened next.

"A lake? Strange then that you smell so strongly of the sea," Kenari responds as she opens the box to reveal a set of gold filigreed claws next to a deck of cards that she starts slipping on one by one. "The sea and..." she takes a long sniff. "yes... definitely cherry blossoms. Coming from the lake you would think you'd reek of fish and seaweed. And was there a lady in shimmering armor at the bottom who gave you _that?"_ she points over his shoulder to the other room where his sword rests in her umbrella stand.

Sebastian felt his temper flare a bit as he snapped his retort, "No the sword came from the Japanese god claiming to be my father!" He paused and spent a moment to collect himself. "Sorry. It's been a long day," he sighed, "Cat's out of the bag now. That last part is the truth of how I survived the fall. Hell even I think I'm crazy, or I would, if it wasn't for the sword." He started to rise, "Thanks for your time. Sorry if I scared you."

"And now we get to the truth of it," Kenari replies calmly as she starts pulling out cards one by one and laying them in a cross pattern face down on the table. She flips over the Fool in the middle of the cross.

"You have experienced a visitation from the Gods and it has set you on an unknown path..."

She uses a claw and flips over The Emperor on the right side. "A Fathers wish to protect his loved ones has set your present in motion."

She places the point of a claw on the card to the left and smiles slyly. "Don't you want to know for what purpose? For it is by the grace of Bast that I may tell you."

Sebastian settled back in his chair. "I've never been much for fortune telling," he admits cautiously, "But then again if you had told me this morning I was going to meet a god, I would have laughed in your face. Maybe it's time I broaden my perspective some."

"There are more things in Heaven and Earth, my friend... than dreamt of in our philosophies," Kenari replies with a small chuckle as she turns over  
the Two of Pentacles and places it over The Fool.

"The things your father told you... they cause conflict as you wonder how to balance the life you've created for yourself with the one that's been revealed to you. Do you tell your mother? Your friends? Do you go about your life like normal? Will it change everything from here on?"

She turns over the card to the right to reveal The Hierophant. Her nose wrinkles as she lets out a slight hiss at the sight of the card. "The future will not be an easy one, as the beliefs and traditions of a group that seeks conformity will challenge your new role."

"Not your favorite card, I take it?" Sebastian asks with a smirk.

"You have no idea," Kenari replies flatly as she points to the card above The Fool. "This card represents the best outcome if you overcome your challenges."

The Magician.

"Innnnteresting..."

"How so?" Sebastian asks as he leans slightly forward.

"The Magician is a bridge between the spirit world and that of humanity," she explains as she sits back and gestures with her hand, the delicate clink of metal claws ringing like bells in the quiet. "It's not an easy role to have, however. You will be plagued with many hard decisions as you are joined by others who wish to bridge that gap, and harmed by those who fear it. But fear not, for when you have fully manifested and mastered the elements of body, mind, heart and soul, you will rise to power and victory."

"Others?"

Kenari offers a half smile as she continues the reading. "You did come to me, after all. Now this final card below The Fool represents what truly drives you deep down... and what will keep driving you through these difficult times."

She leans over the table and with a delicate claw flips over... The Four of Wands. "Ah... who isn't driven by a desire for peace and harmony?" She smiles as she taps the card with a claw. "But maybe there's more... a desire for home, a place to belong? Perhaps not a place... but a person to belong to?"

Sebastian was quiet for several minutes after the fortune teller finished speaking. He didn't doubt her words. He had felt power in them, similar but different, from what he had felt from the relics his father had gifted upon him.

When he did speak, it came out in soft, cracked voice. "Susano-O. That was his name. My father I mean. God of seas and storms. I don't really know much about Shinto, but that's where he hails from." Sebastian swallowed, trying to find his full voice, before continuing, "He said there was a storm coming. I'm supposed to find out other… Scions he called them, and together we are supposed to rebuild after it passes." Sebastian leveled his gaze at the woman. "You're one of them." It wasn't a question. "I felt a tinge of power in your words, not too different then the power in Arashi," he said tilting his head towards the sword and then pulled his necklace from underneath his jump suit, "Or this tooth."

He stood abruptly, taking on a confidence he hadn't felt since the landing, and extended his right hand, "Sebastian Vogel. I'm the leader of the Stormwatch weather team and…" he paused for only a moment, resolve flashing through his eyes like lightning, "Scion of Susano-O."

Kenari smiles at Sebastian's words and carefully removes her claws before placing them back in the box. She then stands and places her hand in his, along with her cell phone. "Kenari Sanura, Scion of Bast. A pleasure to finally meet you, Sebastian. Feel free to call your friends now, once you've decided what to tell them."

Sebastian nodded and took the phone. He took a moment to actually recall Diana's number before punching it in. She answered on the second ring, "Tribbet here." Her voice was definitely strained but she maintained a professional attitude.

"Hey Diana, it's me," Sebastian said, rather sheepishly.

"Sebastian!" she exclaimed, "Thank god you are okay. What happened?"

 _Thank god indeed, though probably not the one you are thinking,_ , Sebastian mused before answering, "Ryan's chute broke off and knocked him out. I strapped mine on him. I got a hold of what was left of his and managed a rough landing in one of the lakes. How's Ryan doing?" It was a straight lie, but he hoped her relief that he was alive and the slight static of the call covered that.

She didn't question him. "Broken arm, but I'm guessing you knew that. Doctor thinks he might have a cracked rib too. We're waiting on X-Rays." He sighed in relief.

"Guess we're going to have call in some IT support for next week's server install. Maybe Ryan will finally drum up the courage to ask Ms. Delacroix out." The both chuckled at that. "Speaking of which, I think I'm going to take few days off. I'm alive, but I'm still banged up a bit. You're in charge until I get back in."

Diana laughed again, "I'm in charge even when you are here. But seriously, take care of yourself. We'll see you in a few days."

He hung up the phone and set it back on the table. His earlier confidence waived for a moment before he looked back up to Kenari. "Thank you. You gave me quite the wake up call this evening. Can I... that is, I'd like to buy you dinner in return. As a thank you."

Edit

Kenari smiles. "Generosity so freely given is a rare gift these days. Let me gather my things and close up shop." She scoops her cards up and slips them into a pouch at her belt before grabbing her box and making her way into the back room.

"I hope I won't need them... but you never know," she mutters to herself before pouring her claws into a velvet bag that she ties tightly to her belt. She then takes her ear cuff out of her jewelry box and affixes it to her right ear.

 _Busy night?_ a voice asks in her ear.

"Interesting one to say the least. See what you can dig up on this Sebastian with his Storm Watch group, would you? I'm curious if he has any enemies I should be aware of."

 _You got it, lady. In the meantime, take care of yourself. Things are getting... weird to say the least._

"Yes... there is change coming... I can feel it."

"Did you say something?" Sebastian calls out.

"Just have to change and then I'm coming!" Kenari replies as she slips on a black miniskirt and knee high boots to go with her red corset that thankfully goes with almost everything she has.

"Watch the house, love... but don't get yourself hurt!" she whispers to her cat as she scratches him under the chin.

 _Bring leftovers!_ the cat meows in reply.

"Perfection can't be rushed!" Kenari admonishes Sebastian with a smile as she struts back into the main room and grabs a small black purse off the back of her chair. "Shall we?"


	2. Convergence

(A Convergence of Scions - Outside of Aunt Angeline's Restaurant)

The rest of the morning had passed like any other morning, for Twylla, which made the whole visitation from her father feel even more surreal. Oh, yeah...by the way, gods are real and you're the daughter of Ptah. How about pancakes for breakfast? Good? Not good? Waffles instead? How's that demigod-hood sitting with ya?

She had toyed with the idea of calling her mother and asking about all of this. Did she know who Twylla's father truly was or was she just as in the dark about that matter as her daughter? If Twylla told her the truth, what would she say? What would she think?

Sighing to herself, Twylla had decided that the best thing to do was to get out of the apartment and go for a walk. The fresh air and exercise would do her good, help her clear her head and figure out what to do next. Or, figure out if there even _was_ anything that she needed to do, right now. Ptah had said that she would be needed, but she had no idea of the timeframe involved. Logic would dictate that if he's appearing to her now, then this war must be looming on the horizon. But, who knows? Time may not move the same for gods as it does for mortals.

It is thus that Twylla finds herself strolling down the streets of New Orleans, not really caring where she goes. She is lost in her own thoughts, turning things over in her head as her feet carry her to some undecided destination. Even though she had the intent to come out and clear her mind, it's simply not happening. The people around her are vague shapes to be avoided. The slight breeze upon her skin is nice but ultimately dismissed by her senses. No. She's too busy looking inward to notice what is happening around her.

At least, that is the case up until the point where she feels someone...bump? shove?...her. She's not really certain of what happened, but it doesn't really matter all that much. What matters, at this point, is that Twylla finds herself falling and spinning, gravity pulling at her as she stumbles out into the street. Completely off balance, she turns her head to see a taxi bearing down on her.

Time seems to slow down. She can see the driver and part of her notes the panicked expression spreading across his face. Two simultaneous voices in her head say, _Oh, shit. I'm going to die._ and _Neat! Time dilation!_

"OK, just make sure they don't sign the agreement until we have Simon take a look. No hablo mas legalese."

Sven finished up his call and got into the taxi that had just pulled up, giving a surreptitious glance to the exotic-looking fare he was replacing. He gave the driver directions to his office and started checking his emails on his phone.

All of a sudden Sven was thrown forward, almost losing grip of his phone as the cabbie started cursing up a storm.

"What the fuck?!" Sven looked up, catching glimpses and fragments of the scene through the sudden adrenaline rush. A woman was laying on the ground to the side of the cab, a giant dog was standing protectively over her.

Sven scrambled out of the car. "What the fuck are you doing?!" He screamed at the cabbie, "Were you trying to kill her?!" Conscience, his earring, turned ice cold in his ear. Wincing, Sven dropped his ire, saying much more calmly, but still livid, "Sorry, sorry. Call an ambulance, let's make sure she's ok." He rushed to her side, wary of the giant mastiff.

Twylla lays on the ground, stunned. She blinks at the huge dog, the cab, the man who now kneels by her side, trying to make sense of it all. She's breathing fine and seems to be unhurt, other than what will probably turn into a nasty bruise or two and a couple of scrapes from landing on pavement.

The mastiff simply sits down beside Twylla and calmly watches Sven., long tongue lolling out of its mouth as it pants and drools. It doesn't seem to be overly concerned about him.

"I...uhh...what?" Twylla sits up slowly. After a second, she gives a shaky chuckle and mutters, "What the hell is up with today?"

She looks to Sven and the cabbie, who has gotten out of the car to check on her, as well, "I'm sorry. I...I don't know what happened. Someone bumped me and..." she gestures weakly around herself.

Realizing that she's beginning to hold up traffic, Twylla pushes herself to her feet. She's a bit unsteady, due to the adrenaline rush that comes from suddenly _not being dead_ , "Need to get out of the road."

~~~~~

Sebastian had barely helped Kenari out of the car when man in suit and talking on a cell-phone pushed past them and into the cab. _I think I know that guy,_ he thought with a double take before shrugging it off. He was out for a second date with Kenari and he was still nervous as fuck. He didn't need useless musings to make him seem even more distracted.

"Guess he was in a hurry," he said to her with what he hoped looked like an easy smile as they walked towards the restaurant. A sudden shrieking of tires and followed by screaming and just a trickle of power cut off any further conversation.

Kenari's brother's taxi was at a halt no more than a few hundred feet down the street and the new fair was screaming at the poor guy. "Oh shit!" A glimpse of unmistakable blue hair made his blood run cold and he started to sprint towards the accident.

"Woah, be careful." Sven gingerly helped the woman off the street. _That dog is freaking me out._

"I've got 911 on the phone, does she need an ambulance?" The cabbie asked. He had an accent, Middle Eastern or something.

"No, no, I'm fine, just a little dazed," she said.

Sven gave a critical eye to the scene. She was a little scraped up, but she didn't actually get hit by the car, and it didn't seem as though she had hit her head or anything.

"No, it looks like she'll be okay. I'll stay with her for a few minutes, thanks." He dismissed the driver and gave him a $20 for the very short ride, knowing that he needed fares more than he needed trouble.

The cabbie reluctantly turned away as he untangled himself from the 911 dispatcher's procedures. He got in his car and drove a little down the street to the side to get out of the way of traffic.

"Well that was exciting," Sven nervously chuckled. He was still rattled from the sudden excitement, and hadn't quite put on his mask of civility. As he helped her out of the street, shooing away curious passersby, the dog obediently followed at her side.

"That's quite a dog you've got here. What's his name?"

"Oh...he's..." Twylla trails off. She had started to say "he's not mine" when something about the animal strikes her. She's not sure what it is, but she feels connected to the animal, for some reason.

The mastiff looks up at her and gives her a big, goofy dog grin before nuzzling his head under her hand and sitting down beside her. He leans against her leg, nearly knocking her over again with his mass.

She laughs and says, "He's..."

 _Rescue. He rescued me. That's what I felt hit me. Not the cab. The dog. He knocked me out of the way. Rescue...rescue...Roscoe!_

"His name is Roscoe," Twylla laughs and ruffles Roscoe's ears.

"Boof," says Roscoe, not really barking but just sort of chuffing in that quiet way that some big dogs will do.

"I'm sorry. My name is Twylla," she holds out her hand for Sven to shake.

Sebastian managed to push his way through the crowd in time to see the man who had helped himself to the cab shaking hands with Twylla back on the sidewalk. Seeing her moving was a good sign, and he was happy that Kenari had managed to keep up with him.

The man still looked familiar, but he couldn't place it. There was also an huge dog following by her side. At first glance she looked okay, but he wanted to make sure. "Ms. Delacroix, are you okay?" he called out, knowing she hated it when he addressed her formally. Her response would help him gauge her mental status better than anything else.

The man turned towards him, but before he could say anything Sebastian called out, "I'm CPR and first aid certified. I'm here to help."

It is at this point that she hears a familiar voice call to her. Turning, she sees Sebastian hurrying towards her with a lovely, Middle-Eastern lady in tow.

As he draws up next to her, she crosses her arms, scowls playfully, and says, "Twylla. Keep calling me that and I'll set your computer into an infinite loop of Teletubbie madness. Don't think I won't, mister!"

"Nice to meet you Twylla, I'm Sven. And nice to meet you too Roscoe." Despite the very interesting young woman in front of him, Sven was still eyeing the dog. _20 bucks that's a dude in a costume,_ he thought to himself. He also noted the dog didn't have a collar.

A man in his late 20's came running up, and a second later Sven recognized the exotic-looking woman he had seen getting out of the cab a minute ago. From the pursuing conversation it turns out the man knew Twylla. As they started to banter, Sven started getting uncomfortable, and for a lack of social graces figured he was no longer needed.

Putting on an air of benign disinterest, he started looking around for another cab to catch. He didn't have any pressing business at the office, but his immediate concern for the woman's safety has been alleviated and his mind was already turning back to today's schedule.

Sebastian traded barbs with Twylla while she tolerated his quick examination. "You always struck me as more of a cat person," Sebastian said, eyeing the dog. He noticed the other man start to look for another cab and seeing the man's profile it finally struck him.

"You're Christina's aide," he shouted at the man trying to remember the man's name and stuck out his hand, "Sebastian Vogel. We worked together some during the clean-up after Katrina. Your boss put me in charge of one of the build teams. Steven was your name, right?"

Kenari's head reels as she's assailed with sensation: the crackling of electricity as the man named Sven leaps out of the car to check on the girl... the overwhelming feeling of home and sand as the blue haired girl stands up and dusts herself off... the scent of the sea that clings to Sebastian... and of course, the smell of one very _large_ dog that could use a bath.

 _When too many coincidences happen at once, it might be the Gods telling you something_ her father used to say when she was little. She smiles to herself when her little brother gets out of the cab to check on the girl as she realizes that her father has no idea how right he was.

"Sister! You have to believe me, she just walked right into the street without looking!" her brother exclaimed in relief as he sees a familiar face.

"It's all right," Kenari replies calmly as she pats him on the shoulder with a smile. "When the gods are involved, some things can't be helped. Now give father a call while I talk to these people... for I have the feeling we might have guests tonight."

Her brother's eyes widen at her words and he kisses the ankh around his neck. "As you say, sister. Blessed be to the Gods." He then heads back to his cab and with the driver side door open sits in the front seat to call their father.

"Sebastian, dear... aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?" Kenari asks sweetly as she walks up to the group with a sway of her hips and a smile on her face. "I certainly hope no one was harmed! My poor brother is beside himself with concern."

Shaking his hand, Sven replied "Sven, and it's Christine. But yes, hi! We're actually in City Hall now, Christine left FEMA and won a council seat," He didn't remember the man, but that was really no surprise if it was back during his tenure at FEMA. Life had certainly been a lot more... straightforward then.

While Sebastion speaks with Sven, Twylla turns to the woman, "The driver is your brother? Oh! Definitely let him know that I'm okay...a bit scrapped and...off-kilter...but fine."

Roscoe seems to perk up a bit as Kenari approaches, tilting his head with curiosity. He stands and moves to her, snuffling at her hands and feet, his tail slowly wagging. After a moment, he backs away from her and sneezes. Somehow, he looks offended by the very fact that she should cause him to make that noise and goes back to sitting behind Twylla.

Sebastian nodded, "Right Sven! Well it seems I owe you thanks for taking care of my friend here."

Sebastian thought he caught some hidden meaning in Kenari's reminder of his manners, "Kenari, this is Twylla Delacroix. The team contracts her for additional tech support when it's beyond Ryan's capabilities. And this is Sven. Him and his boss were one of the few positive forces in the cleanup following Katrina." He gestured at each of them in turn. "Everyone, this is Kenari. We were about to sit down to lunch, but perhaps the two of you would like to join us?" Sebastian eyed the dog, "Or perhaps we should get something to go and find somewhere more dog friendly to talk."

"My father always cooks enough for plenty of people," Kenari offers with a smile as she gestures with her hand to include everyone.. "Perhaps you all would like to join me in my home? Once he hears of what happened with Ms. Delacroix I am sure he'll practically demand that he repay her somehow... even if she is thankfully no worse for wear. Mayhap after such a nerve wracking experience she would enjoy food from her homeland? I am sure the dinner conversation will be _most_ stimulating."

She giggles as the dog huffs. "I'm sure he can find something suitable for him too if he promises not to drool on anything."

Twylla smiles and shakes her head, "Repay me? Pfft! I probably scared the pants off your brother. There's nothing to repay. Everyone is okay and that's all that's important."

Sebastian raises an eyebrow and leans in to stage whisper to Twylla, "Why does she get away with calling you Ms. Delacroix?"

"Because I haven't been doing tech support for her for well over a year," Twylla stage whispers in return, grinning over her shoulder.

 _Wait...what?_ something that Kenari had said seems to click in her mind. _Food from her homeland...My homeland is New Orleans._ It is then that the sun glints upon the ankh necklace around Kenari's neck. _Noooo. Could it be? Ptah did say there would be others..._

"Actually, you know what?" Twylla turns back to Kenari. "I think dinner at your place might be nice. I've spent way too many days eating by myself in some back corner of a cafe somewhere between calls."

Sven blinked. _This is taking a weird turn_ he thought. One second someone almost dies in front of him, the next he's set for a dinner date with 3 ::woof:: ok 4 strangers?

If this had happened a few years ago, he would have politely extricated himself. Failing that, he would probably become... less polite. These weren't business contacts - if they were, he'd already know them, and they'd already be on his schedule. Having dinner at people's houses was more Catherine's bag, and even then only if an election were drawing near.

But he's been learning to listen to happenstance. He's always suspected there was no such thing as coincidences, and after some of the situations he's been in ever since... ever since his change in jewelry, that suspicion has been confirmed time and again. Now he rides the wave of circumstance, even if it leads somewhere terrible.

"OK sure, nice to meet you Kenari. Let me just clear my schedule."

He stepped aside, pretending to put his cell phone to his ear. In so doing he pricked his finger on Conscience.

 _Hey, what's up?_ Christine's thoughts came through crystal as always. Sure, he could have actually called her, but it's a lot harder to hack one's thoughts than one's cell phone logs, and they kept their... weirder conversations solely to themselves.

 _Hey, I just ran into a bunch of "interesting" people, I'm clearing my schedule today to see where this rabbit hole goes._ Sven was especially proud of being able to put air quotes into his thoughts. Out loud he said "Hi Christine, just checking in to clear my schedule for the day."

 _OK, I don't think I've got anything pressing for you anyways. Pay close attention, often it's the little details that make the biggest impact._ She closed the connection, a sort of slight tingle, not unlike when you turn off a blank monitor screen. Sven sent a mass email to the office, rescheduled a few things in Outlook, and turned back to Kenari.

"All set! I can't wait to try the native foods of Bluehairia."

Sebastian noticed Twylla's lingering glance at Kenari's ankh and understood Kenari's. He instinctively grasped his own necklace. Sven seemed completely oblivious to the weirdness, but he was in politics. Sebastian couldn't be sure appearances where what they seemed. Out loud he said, "I suspect even those of use with different homelands will find ourselves in familiar company this evening. My place is just a few blocks away, if no one minds a short walk I can drive us the rest of the way. I suspect Haji could use a quiet drive home at this point." He nodded towards the cab.

 _Besides,_ he thought, _I would really prefer to have my sword nearby if things go badly._

Kenari laughs. "I was thinking more like Cairo, or Giza, perhaps? Though I am not sure where exactly Ms. Delacroix is from. I am also curious as to your origins, Sven. From where do you hail that you carry about you such energy?"

"The offer of a ride is more than gracious, Sebastian. Perhaps you can entertain us with stories of your homeland on the way, Sven? I will gladly share mine after dinner."

She giggles. "I'm afraid my stomach was set on food when this highly entertaining event occurred."

As they started towards Sebastian's apartment, Sven started rolling out his usual meet-and-greet spiel.

Grinning, he said, "Well I'm from the distant and exotic lands of Ohio. I was born in Columbus, or I should say I was adopted there. My last name, Merrick, might be British, but I'm pretty sure I've got Nordic blood. Twenty minutes under the sun and I start glowing in the dark!

"Graduated OSU in '04, got a job under Ms. Porter at FEMA right before Katrina hit. After a few years we both fell in love with the city, in 2013 she ran for councilwoman and won, and I stayed on as her Chief of Staff. Been working with the community ever since."

"What about you, Kenari? I take it I already met your brother, you'll have to pass along an apology for my earlier rudeness." Sven often had a blind spot for treating servicefolk very well, he never meant to be rude to them but he also had high expectations that they do their job as attentively and skillfully as he does his own.

Kenari's smile freezes as she listens to Sven's story. _A politician? But the signs... how can this be? Could his godly blood have saved him from their seemingly inevitable corruption?_

She runs a casual hand through her hair and activates her ear cuff. "Ah, Nordic blood... that would explain things I think. You have the feel of a man ready to spring to action at a moment's notice, Sven Merrick."

 _Got it... I'll start running a check on him and this Christine and get back to you._

"Haji will be harder on himself than we ever could be," she assures Sven as she smiles and lays a gentle hand on his forearm. "His brothers will never let him forget it either," she chuckles.

"I am Madam Sanura, Mystic and Tarot Card reader extraordinaire," she continues as she places a hand on her chest. "I give people glimpses into the future in hopes so they can fix the mistakes of the past to improve the present."

Sven was startled by the sudden physical contact, but resisted the urge to jerk away - or to reach for the gun in his shoulder holster. He'd had some time to study his new compatriots and was actively considering how they may react or behave, logging away potential motivators, suspicious behavior, or other little quirks.

He placed his hand over hers, signaling thanks for the sincerity, then guided her hand off his arm. "So, a psychic, a tech, a... Tibetan Temple Dog, and a - wait, sorry Sebastian, what was it you said you did?" Sven was realizing that his face was familiar, not necessarily from his FEMA days, but more like... like he'd seen him on TV or something.

Sebastian cocked a lopsided smile. "My crew and I fly into hurricanes for a living. Maybe you've see our show, Stormwatch?" He casually pulled a business card out of his wallet and passed it to Sven. It announced his status as team lead and pilot for the weather team as well as sporting the stylized eye with hurricane for a pupil logo their team used. "I also hold a Masters in Meteorological Studies and sometimes fill in during the off season."

He stopped short next to a purple Honda Accord parked next to a very industrial looking building. "Here's my ride," he said unlocking the doors with a button click. "I figure two in the back seat, someone else up front with me, and dogzilla can ride in the back." He opened up the hatchback cargo area and arranged his still tattered jump gear against the seat back, taking care not to uncover the sword hiding beneath it,

"Come on, Roscoe," Twylla pats the inside of the hatchback once Sebastian is finished arranging things. The gigantic canine doesn't even have to jump up. He delicately steps into the car and arranges himself with care, settling down with a content whuffle.

 _Holy crap. I have a horse in a dog suit,_ Twylla thinks in bemusement as she gives Roscoe's ears another scratch. _What am I going to do? There's no way he's going to be able to live in my apartment! Oh gawds...I won't be able to hide him for long and the super will have kittens ..._

But, just as assuredly as she knows that the stars will rise, tonight, and the morning will dawn, tomorrow, she _knows_ that she and this dog are tied together. Twylla has no proof, but she guesses that he is a gift from Ptah.

 _You are not a warrior. My children rarely are,_ Ptah had said. Perhaps Roscoe was meant to keep her safe, then.

"Be good. We'll be at Kenari's in no time," Twylla says before closing the back of the car. Under her breath, she mutters, "Time to look for a new place to live."

She decides to sit in the back seat so she can be close to Roscoe, just in case. He seems like an incredibly mellow dog, but you never know. As she settles in and buckles her seatbelt, she asks, "So, Kenari...where do you live?"

"My family and I have our shops and apartment on Chartres street," Kenari replies as she gets in the front passenger seat. _No need having a dog slobbering in my ear._ "It's called The Herbal Oasis, and for those in true need, we even have a small temple dedicated to the gods in the back."

"So you come from New Orleans too?" Twylla asks.

"Where do we all truly come from?" Kenari replies. "I grew up here in New Orleans... but only Bast can truly say from whence I came."

Sven snapped a picture of Sebastian's business card, which added it to his contacts. "OK yeah I have seen that actually, you guys are crazy!" Sven really was quite impressed - it's a job that he could never see himself doing in a million years, and this guy actually seems to _enjoy_ it.

Sven slid into the car next to Twylla. Roscoe huffed behind his head, causing Sven to jump and bang his head on the roof of the car.

He turned around to face the dog and said, "OK, you. You can see that you're making me uncomfortable. We're going to have to come to an agreement of terms or something here."

Roscoe tilted his head, then slurped his enormous, sloppy tongue right across Sven's face.

Sven froze, then calmly turned back around in his seat, wiping his face with a handkerchief he kept in his pocket. "Right, then, glad we understand each other."

Twylla presses her lips together, trying her best not to laugh. However, as she watches Sven calmly wipe slobber from his face, the very picture of a straight man caught in a comedy that he did not ask to be in, what little self-control the tech had dissolves.

She giggles, her eyes twinkling with mirth. Putting a hand over her mouth, she attempts to stop, but her snerks and chortles only intensify. After a couple of seconds, she is laughing aloud having completely given up on any kind of decorum. Her voice is full of innocent delight, not at all malicious. She just finds the whole thing funny!

After a couple of minutes, Twylla's chortles die down and she looks back to Roscoe, "Bad dog. No licking Sven!" However, there is no bite to her words, and Roscoe is well aware of it. He grins his goofy dog grin and shifts so that his head is draped across the back of the seat and onto her shoulder.

"So, Sven...sorry about that," Twylla grins, her eyes still dancing. "What have you been doing in the community, lately?"

Sebastian nodded as everyone settled in. "Buckle up everyone." Following his own advice, he clipped the seat belt into place and started to drive. He put on an air of concentrating on the road, but drove mostly on instinct. Instead his concentration was dedicated to following the conversation on the drive.

Sven started another standard spiel, "Ms. Porter has been advocating police reform right out of the gate. Body cams, watchdog groups, sensitivity training, etc. Vice reform too. We may be relative outsiders but sometimes it takes a fresh perspective to improve on old pains, not only for those who live here but for those who have yet to come back.

"I deal more with the various community organizations and associations. It's a fine line to walk - on the one hand, we want to preserve and promote the local businesses and history of this amazing city. On the other, we all know how much we need to revitalize the economy, bringing in new businesses, promoting technology changes, rooting out corruption. I'm really just trying to modernize industry here without us just ending up with a Starbucks on every corner and a McDonald's on every block."

While it was a standard line that he says many times a week, his passion for his work still shines clearly through his words, with a sincerity and hopefulness not usually associated with NOLA politics.

"So, how have you been doing with ice reform? I imagine you're getting a a lot of resistance from the 'good ol' boy' faction," Twylla asks. She crosses her arms and shakes her head slightly, as she speaks.

"Well... admittedly, we haven't exactly had any notable successes yet. The Mayor's office is quite opposed to reform of any kind, and seems to be solidifying a powerful effort to keep the older politics in play rather than bow to any modern expectations." Sven shook his head in dismay. This was one of those areas where his efforts tended to be more under the table, and the forces they were facing knew a lot more dirty tricks than he did.

"The NOPD are about as bad as they come, and it seems the few good ones that were in place have scattered since Katrina. Of course, hundreds more abandoned their duties during the hurricane. We're hoping to work with the Commissioner on bringing fresh blood and an even perspective to the force as they rebuild their ranks, rather than flooding the city with even more bullies with a gun.

"But anyways, I'm not here to campaign! Where is it that you work Twylla?"

At the mention of Twylla's work Sebastian spared a moment to chime in, "That reminds me! Twylla, has Diana reached out to your company yet about hiring some assistance with the server install? Ryan's not really going to be able to manage with a broken arm and cracked rib."

"I work for Delta Tech and Security. We pretty much do everything when it comes to computers and networks...everything from repairs to custom programming to plugging holes in security," Twylla answers Sven with a smile.

She turns forward as Sebastian speaks up, her grin slowly melting, a worried crease in her brow forming, "Well...yeah...Samson said that I would be needed on Monday but he didn't say anything about Ryan being hurt. What happened?"

It was entirely possible that Diana may not have said anything to Samson about the reason for their need. Or, she could've told him and he simply neglected to mention it to Twylla. After all, the poor man was usually scattered five ways from Sunday just trying to keep the place running in an orderly fashion. It could've easily slipped his mind.

Kenari lets out a snort of derision as Sven mentions the Mayor. "Men in positions of power tend to do everything they can to keep it," she replies. "Many a time have they come to me looking for ways to avoid the consequences of their actions... but the gods will not be denied their due."

She gestures with her hand waving in the air as she continues. "If they choose not to listen...well... who am I but a humble servant to the gods? The Balance must be kept."

Sebastian continued to weave effortlessly through the traffic as he responded to Twylla with a shrug, "Just a slight equipment malfunction when we were sky-diving last weekend. Coulda been a lot worse." He cast a sideways glance at Kenari, "I mean it ended with me meeting Lady Sanura, so maybe it was just fate."

Based on Kenari's earlier hints, he suspected at least one of them might also be a scion, but he wasn't ready to go blurting out the details of the event. _Well,_ he mentally corrected himself as he remembered his meeting with Kenari, _not again at least._

Twylla's eyebrows creep up her forehead. She pauses for a second before saying, "A 'slight malfunction' that resulted in broken bones?" She gets the feeling that Sebastian is glossing over things, but she doesn't press the matter. It's not important. She shakes her head, and smiles, "Well, I'm glad that he's okay...Insanity notwithstanding."

Twylla has never been comfortable with heights and the fact that Sebastian's team regularly leaps from a perfectly good airplane boggles her mind. The very thought of doing something like that, herself, makes her stomach clench into a knot. And, knowing that a friend was injured skydiving, well...she has no doubt that it definitely, absolutely, positively could have been worse.

Inwardly, she gives a little shudder before pushing that thought firmly back into a tiny, dark corner of her mind where she can ignore it. She turns her attention back to Kenari and Sven's conversation, listening quietly.

"Life is circular," Twylla says. "What those people do will always come back to bite them in the ass, later."

Sven was taking mental notes. Networking, always networking. "Delta Tech, I don't think I know them. Is it just support work or do you do other stuff like digitization or product development? We've been interested in campaigning to get City Hall paperless, and they could use all the help we could get - assuming their paltry tech budgets don't scare you off. We've also yet to secure a vendor for the cop cams."

Turning to Kenari, he raised an eyebrow, "The Mayor's been to see you? That must have been an interesting reading indeed." Sven thought he had rooted out most of the secrets of their political foes - weaponizable or otherwise - but it was news to him that they may be into tarot or astrology or whatnot.

It wasn't that Sven didn't believe in magic or metaphysics, but he generally mistrusted 3rd parties to try to speak for the universe - religious or otherwise - when one could commune directly with it via other means.

 _This is an angle I need to explore later - especially if I could get a fly on a wall in such a setting._ He'd arranged for a listening device in a confessional during the election, to middling success, and had little qualms in doing so again if the situation called for it.

Twylla leans forward and picks up her big, woven handbag from where she had tossed it at her feet in the floorboard. She digs around for a second before pulling out a business card which she hands to Sven, "Oh, yeah! We do digitization. We also do software development, but not hardware."

She hums as she thinks, "I don't know who you could go to for cop cams. But, call the office and ask to speak to Denise Hendricks. She's our purchasing agent...gets us all the parts we need when doing repairs. I bet she can hook you up."

"Men like that send their pawns to do their dirty work," Kenari replies to Sven. "Easier that way to deny any involvement." She smiles to herself as a voice whispers in her ear.

 _Remind me to tell you about Senator Vitter's aide and how he kept the books for the prostitutes sometime. That was one of my favorites..._

"Inevitably we all find that we can't escape our fates." She points to the next cross street with a light. "Turn right here, and we're two blocks down on the left."

Sebastian automatically followed the directions and smoothly parked between 2 other cars. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying with Air Vogel today and welcome to Casa de Sanura. Local time is 1:34 PM. Please use caution when disembarking as occupants may have shifted in transit." he said as he shut the car off.

Diners and patrons emerge from nearby restaurants and shops to assess the commotion, smartphones held aloft to capture the excitement. The crowd wanes just as quickly when it turns out there are no damaged vehicles or injured pedestrians.

Aunt Kathleen tsk-tsks at the almost-accident, making a comment about everyone being in a rush. Fixer's curiousity is more practical: if the others had been with him, they'd have found some ready targets in the crowd of onlookers, as accidents were always good distractions - at least until the police showed up. He wasn't keen on having another run-in with the one detective, Ashton, Asshat, whatever his name was.

He noticed Sarge standing in the crowd, watching the scene. There was something about his manner, and Fixer realized Walker was being ridden by the Loa. A pair of eyes looking in on the world of mortal man. 

"Sarge?" he asked. "Been waiting long?" 

"Just got here, myself," Walker smiled. "Car accidents ... well, like I told you, I got clipped by a drunk driver, that's how I lost my leg. People here were lucky. Come on, we have a reservation."

Angeline's was done in classic French Quarter decor. There was a pleasant hum of conversation and an overall atmosphere of bonhomie. 

"Welcome home," the hostess smiled. "Do you have a reservation?" 

"Walker, for three, please." 

"Right this way. We have a table by the window, where it's a little cooler," she told them. "Or a quieter table in the corner, if you'd like." 

"By the window is fine," Walker said. There was still a distant aspect to his gaze. Fixer had never seen someone ridden in this manner; neither, it appeared, had Mambo Kathleen, as she hadn't said anything. 

His Aunt excused herself and went in search of the restroom. 

Walker regarded Fixer with a slight tilt of his head. "Do you see them, my son?" 

"See who ... Father?" Fixer asked tentatively. 

Walker's smile, a toothy affair not entirely his own, told him he had guessed correctly. Kalfu was using the man as his eyes and ears. 

"Others like you. Look closely, and you will see the patterns taking form," Walker/Kalfu told him. "Already, you are being drawn into each other's presence, a web of coincidence and purpose through which the future will be shaped." 

Pattern recognition was something familiar to Fixer. You had to recognize who was flush and who wasn't. Who was meandering in a touristy daze and who was a plainclothes detective only pretending to shop. There was the woman with blue hair, of course, who'd nearly been clipped by the taxicab. Another couple that didn't seem like a couple, entirely. And perhaps one or two others. 

It was the power of the gods, both newly kindled and long banked. And something was pressing on the future, bringing the power forth.

Walker rose as Kathleen returned to the table, and Fixer followed suit. Kathleen ordered the Shrimp Creole, while Sarge went with the Jambalaya. Fixer chose Angeline's Gumbo; iced tea was the drink of choice. 

"Mr. Walker, you seem familiar, though I'm fairly certain we've never met," Kathleen said. 

Walker gave the same toothy smile and Fixer knew it was Kalfu who was answering. "I'm restless by nature, and I walk around town a lot. Our paths have undoubtedly crossed, but only in passing."

"Fixer can use a friend," Kathleen said. "My brother confuses being a father and a mentor for being an authority figure." 

Walker smiled. "I am honored." 

Fixer laughed. "Well, I'm not sure, Sarge - we _did_ meet in prison." 

"The worst prisons can be the ones we create for ourselves," Walker/Kalfu said. "Part of me understands sleeping in a bed, in a house, that's all perfectly normal and safe. And then there's the part of me that remembers being in a war zone, and having bullets whistle through your tent or barracks." 

"It is not protection you require, but a cleansing," Kathleen said. "The fetters of war are still upon your wrists." 

"The idealistic young kid who didn't know any better, he's long gone, Miss Kathleen," Walker said with a hint of regret. "I walked into war and was fortunate enough to walk out of it, but I have seen things that cannot be unseen. It is a cost to be borne, not a debt that can be forgiven, and I ... hell, I'll carry it with me the rest of my life." 

"As you were saying, the worst prisons are those we create for ourselves," Kathleen chided softly. "Whatever you saw, whatever you did, those may be lessons or burdens, but they do not grow kinder when you cling to them as yours alone. Perhaps you need a friend, too. And that is why Papa Legba saw fit to put you both in jail at the same time."

"I won't argue that, Ma'am," Walker smiled. "If war gave me anything, it's an appreciation for what comes next. And something tells me there's a storm on the horizon." 

"There is, indeed," Kathleen agreed. "Katrina was a hurricane. The coming storm is of a different making, though both profit from the illusion that they are in the distance. Both will bring the same level of destruction and change when they make landfall." 

"Dad's big on the End Times, too, how we all have to come to Christ Jesus and be Saved," Fixer frowned. "At least he's not telling his parishioners to buy him a new jet." 

Walker laughed, but then grew serious. "What exactly happened between you and your father?" 

"We just see things differently, is all," Fixer said. "Sometimes you have to wait for change, and sometimes it's not even your change to make, but someone else's. You gotta know when there's a fish on the other end of the line before you try reeling it in." 

Kathleen set down her utensils. 

"It is somewhat more complicated than that. Fixer, you have never heard this story before. It was your father's' first ritual," she said. "At first, he was caught up in the dancing and festive atmosphere. But then the Loa came. He saw people _change_ \- their manner, their voices, and I don't think he knew what to make of it. 

"Especially when one of our uncles let out a deep, basso laugh. He snatched up a bottle of rum and drank half of it in one swallow. He pointed at our grandfather and said _Il est de votre temps_ \- it is your time. And then he looked Francis in the eyes and said, 'Say your goodbyes.' 

"Granpere collapsed after the ceremony was over. He passed the next morning. Francis swore that Baron Samedi was the devil, and never attended another ritual." 

"So, just as I'm carrying the burden of war with me, your brother carries the memory of that night?" Walker asked. 

"The memory. And all of the pain and loss one expects when a child loses a grandparent," Kathleen says. "So, Fixer, remember that your father is, in some ways, an angry, upset child lashing out at what caused him so much pain."

Elle was out for her usual evening walk around the neighborhood. She walked between work and dinner, rather than after dinner. That was more her contemplative time, spent at her altar or with the cards or bones, reading for herself, staying in touch with spirit.

It was a balmy evening, the street filled with tourists, street musicians, tarot readers with their little tables set up on the sidewalk. Elle didn't let her mind wander far during her walks through the Quarter, to many pickpockets and other cons out to prey on unsuspecting tourists. She paid attention to her surroundings without appearing to notice anything in particular, a habit that had been honed and refined by her years in New York.

As she rounded the corner there was a screech of tires. A cab making a sudden stop, a woman down near the cab being watched over by a very large dog. There were many people around, some helping the young woman, some watching. Elle's intuition told her the woman wasn't injured, not even hit by the car, so she didn't hurry forward to offer medical aid. Instead she slowed and watched the scene play out.

There was an energy in the air, a crackling static around the figures huddled around the woman now sitting on the curb. The was also the prickling on the back of her neck and her head that told her someone nearby was being ridden. Not the woman on the curb, or the other woman helping her, although she looked familiar - like the picture of the card reader whose shop was over the herb place she had been in just the other day. There were two young men, one Asian, lithe, agile. The other taller, of European decent, the horse wasn't either of them, but the crackling energy was coming from them, the four of them.

The cabbie got out to check on things. He didn't have the same energy signature as the others, but he did know them, or at least one of them. It was strange, they didn't all seem to know each other, but it felt like they were all connected like jigsaw puzzle pieces, each of them knowing one or two of the others but no more. Elle reached out psychically, trying to read the situation. It had a bit of chaos to it, and then there was the horse somewhere nearby, being ridden by which one, which Loa was here? And what was that energy? It was strange, Elle had never felt anything like it, it made her blood sing.

As she watched she moved close to the building on the corner behind her, across the street from the commotion. This way people could only go around in front of her, not behind. The cabbie and the four crackly, staticky ones all got into the cab, with the enormous dog, and drove away. What an odd group of people Elle thought.

By now the crowd had thinned, nothing to see here, no one hurt, nothing exciting. Elle scanned those left standing on the sidewalk in front of Aunt Angeline's and settled on another unlikely looking pair. The younger one looked familiar, with a strange sense of static about him. As Elle shifted her gaze to older gentleman with him she felt the familiar prickling, that's the horse. The two turned and went back inside Aunt Angeline's.

Still no clue who the Loa riding him was, now that was interesting, you usually didn't see possession outside of ritual., and that strange energy again, what is that? The light turned green, Elle crossed the street. As she walked in front of the restaurant she saw the two gentlemen at a window table and Mambo Kathleen approaching from the back of the restaurant. Ah, that's who the kid is, Mambo Kathleen's shifty nephew, Fixer.

Mambo Kathleen's eyes lit up in recognition, she waved and motioned for Elle to join them. Why not? Elle mused, she haven't had dinner. Elle walked up to the table, the older gentleman got up and pulled out the empty chair for her.

"Thank you". Elle smiled. "who are you?"

"Fixer can use a friend," Kathleen was saying as Elle approached their table. Elle listened to the conversation. The young man had been in jail - something that seemed to happen on a regular basis - and had crossed paths with the man whose eyes were not his own.

"Gabrielle, dear, so good to see you again," Kathleen smiled. "I believe you know my nephew, Fixer ... and this is Mr. Walker."

Walker rose from his seat and nodded his head. "Please, join us." He gave Kathleen another nod to indicate he'd still take care of the bill.

"Thank you," Elle smiled. "Who are you?"

"_Care for_ something to drink?" the man asked. The slight emphasis on the first two words puzzled Elle at first, and then she realized. Care for. Carrefour. _Crossroads._ She was certain that this was not Papa Legba, which meant he had to be Legba's twin, Kalfu, often said to be the source of the world's ills. 

That he just happened to have eyes on a near fatality at a busy intersection didn't make Elle feel any better about the answer. And, the man was in the company of Kathleen's nephew - not a complete thug, but not exactly a model citizen, either. 

"I'm Sergeant Walker, Ma'am," he said. "I gather you're a friend of Miss Kathleen?"

"Oh, yes, I've known Mambo Kathleen since I was a girl. I met her my first visit to New Orleans. She was a friend of my Aunt Marian." Elle smiled, glancing around the table. "Mambo Kathleen is the person who taught me to be 'careful'" Elle emphasized 'care-ful', separating the syllables, saying each distinctly, watching for Walker's reaction. "She has guided me in the old ways."

Walker gives you a toothy grin. "Are you a Mambo? Or ... something else?" 

Fixer glances at his Aunt, and then at Gabrielle, sensing that there was some kind verbal fencing going on. He'd never really paid attention to the woman; she'd returned to New Orleans shortly after Katrina, and worked in the community, some kind of hospice nurse. Not someone he had reason to associate with. 

But, here she was. Just happened to be passing by while he was having dinner with a guide chosen by his true father.

_Others like you,_ Walker had told him. Was Martine another child of the Loa? Who would her parent be? Erzulie? No, too serious. Agwe, perhaps, since she came to town after Katrina. Or maybe Baron Samedi, since she did hospice work.  
He found himself fishing in his pocket for the skeleton key, fidgeting with it. There was a current of power he usually didn't feel outside of formal rituals, or stores where vendors weren't just hawking 'genuine voudoun magic' to gullible tourists. 

And it was coming from her. 

Stronger. Perhaps not more _powerful_ than Mambo Kathleen, but more tangible, more manifest, ready to be called upon. 

_A web of coincidence and purpose ..._ 

Their paths would cross again.

Elle laughed heartily, "I'm not a mambo, definitely something else." She smiled at 'Sarge'. "I was called to work in a different way. I'm a death doula, a hospice nurse by trade, and a reader at Carmel and Sons Botanica on Dumaine in the Treme District."

"How is your schedule these days?" Mambo Kathleen asked. "We haven't seen you around much these last few months."

"I've actually been relaxing and taking things easy. I've spent a fair amount of time back in bayou country recently. Ever since Aunt Marian's passing and the settlement of her estate I've been able to scale back on my nursing duties, it's been wonderful. Although helping people transition to the other side of the veil is rewarding, it can be draining."

"You inherited the house, as I recall. Did you sell It?"

"No, I've simply continued to live in the guest cottage out back and I rent out the main house on a short term basis. The agency I've contracted provides only the best renters and it has proven to be quite lucrative. I must admit it's a relief after the unpleasantness with the cousins." A shadow crossed Elle's face, briefly. If you hadn't been paying attention you wouldn't have noticed the mercurial downturn then upturn in her mood.

Elle turned to the others at the table. "It's been a long time Fixer, it's good to see you. What have you been up to?"

With a Loa sitting next to him and the strange energy around him, she wondered if he was one of the others Maman had told her about so long ago. Elle's mind drifted back. "There will be a great storm, child, not just the one coming soon, another, greater storm is coming after. You have been chosen to help those that will be leaving this incarnation to transition, and to help rebuild after both storms pass. You will not be alone, there will be others like you, born of the gods, many gods." That had been years ago. She had been waiting a long time to meet another like her.

Fixer shrugs. "Stuff. I have my Bachelor's in Sociology, but finding a job is a whole 'nother thing. I got other friends who have degrees, and we're waiting tables, working minimum wage jobs, and getting told we should get an education and work _harder_."  
"If you want a generation that gives a shit, you have to make sure there are opportunities, not just a handwave from one-percenters who got a six-figure starter job because daddy's the CEO."  
He frowns. "Sorry. It's not your problem."

Despite the rough-around-the-edges vibe, the young man's vision isn't far off from what you were told would be coming. He has a clear interest in building the right kind of future. And if a Loa is looking in on his welfare, going so far as to provide a mentor/guide ...

"No need to apologize, and I actually think it's everybody's problem. If we don't get the stranglehold the wealthy have on the economy and this country turned around there will be hell to pay. I'm seeing things fray around the edges as it is."

Fixer looked up, the 'I could care less', punk look on his face faded away, replaced by surprise and puzzlement.

"You still reading at Mambo Kathleen's place? You're a good reader, if I remember correctly, and I don't think Kathleen would let you keep reading if you weren't. My dance card is full over at Carmel and Sons. I can send my overflow your way, that is, if you have the capacity to take it. Let me know"

"The cards? Yeah, I still read at the store, occasionally go out to the Cathedral - that's about as close as I get to church, though," Fixer tells you. "It's probably best to have clients call the store and make an appointment, rather than hit-and-miss."

"I should have you read for me," Sarge said. "Or you, Gabrielle, if you would be willing. When are you at Carmel & Sons?"

"I'm usually there noon to six on Fridays. Come on by, or call for an appointment, it would be interesting to see what the cards have to say for you.

"I'll do that Fixer, do you have any business cards? Or cards from the store I could give out?"

"I have some". Kathleen digs in her purse and pulls out a handful of cards for her shop and slides them over to Elle. "How was Nanna last time you visited her?"

"Still cooking up potions and brews for the locals as always, and she makes the best cornbread I ever had.

"We had a great time. I stayed about a week the last visit. Sat on the front porch listening to her tell stories of the old days and of family long gone. She also taught me a few more healing spells, along with salves and tinctures.

"What I didn't learn any more about is what I'd really wanted to, about my Mom and Dad. Just heard what I already knew, that her name was Brigitte, she and Dad came to town when she was seven or eight months pregnant, and that he left shortly thereafter.  
I wish someone would remember his name"

"Why you want to know that?" Kathleen retorted, "He was a good for nothin' scum, left your mom when she needed him the most. Don't go looking for him, he will only bring trouble."

Elle shook her head, "That's just what Nana says every time I ask. It's almost like you two are scared of something. Didn't find out any more about Mom, either. The doctor records were destroyed in Katrina, what I have for a birth certificate doesn't even list Mom's last name."

"Now don't you worry none about that, Elle, you have family. There's Nana and lots of us consider you family. And Marian loved you like a daughter, really, more than a niece.

"Look at the foresight she had to leave that notarized letter specifying that even though you were not blood related she considered you family and you were to be included in her will and trust as her niece. Took the wind out of the sails of your cousins, it did."

"I hear the pea an pie here is some of the best in town" Sarge broke in. "What does everyone want for dessert?"

Dinner wrapped up with dessert and pleasant conversation. Sarge promised to stop by the next Friday for a reading around two, when Elle said she had an opening. Elle promised to stop by and see Mambo Kathleen.

As they were getting ready to leave Elle turned to Fixer "you got any time for lunch next week? We could talk about our reading techniques. Besides, I think we have a lot in common." She glanced quickly at Sarga, then back to Fixer.

"Just about any day works for me, except Thursday evenings - I always hit Mama Benedetti's for the all-you-can-eat pasta deal," Fixer says. "Otherwise, I'm at loose ends, scrapin' together what I can to make ends meet."

He was, of course, nowhere near as lean on cash as he made himself out to be. New Orleans was a tourist-driven town, and this was football season as well. The streets were packed with people whose pockets were flush with cash.

The pecan pie, of course, was every bit as delicious as Sarge had said, without the chocolate chips that some venues liked to add. Fixer had an order of beignets that looked as good as what one could get at Cafe du Mond; Kathleen settled for a cup of coffee.

(A Convergence of Scions - The Herbal Oasis and Sanura home)

"Here we are," Kenari declares as they walk up the street to a modest storefront underneath a set of upstairs apartments. A hand-painted wooden sign hangs from the overhang decorated with palm trees and the words _The Herbal Oasis._

She's about to open the door to the shop when she hesitates and turns around, crouching low to face Twylla's dog. "You are a big dog, which is wonderful for protecting your human... but not so wonderful when walking through a store filled with _very_ delicate things. If you would be so kind as to keep the tail and drool under control, I am sure your consideration will be well rewarded after we eat."

She gently holds out an open hand to the dog. "Do we have an understanding?"

Roscoe chuffs amiably and licks Kenari's hand. Perhaps it is the canine version of a spit and shake?

"I think he'll be okay," Twylla says, moving to scratch the mastiff behind the ears. The entire drive over, he had laid quietly with his head across Twylla's shoulder (as evidenced by a now quite moist spot upon her shirt). There had been no barking at cars or other dogs he spotted on the street. In fact, had it not been for his big, ol' noggin' being right there between Twylla and Sven, and clearly visible to Sebastian in the rearview mirror, they wouldn't have even known that he was there.

"Excellent," Kenari replies as she stands up and subtly wipes her hand on the back of her pants.

"Ahlan, Pappa!" Kenari calls out as she opens the door and gestures for everyone to enter. Warm air scented with frankincense incense rolls out from a shop filled with small bottles and vials of various herbs and powders. "I brought my new friends that Haji told you about!"

"Ahlan, sister! They're still in the back setting up the table," a young dark-haired man in his 20s and buttoned down shirt with rolled up sleeves replies from behind the counter.

"Senbi, let me introduce you to my new friends, then!" Kenari smiles as she gestures to the group. "Sebastian, Sven, and Twylla, this is my youngest brother Senbi."

There's a single "WHOOF!" from behind the group as Roscoe pokes his head around Twylla.

"And Roscoe... we can't forget him."

"It is my honor and privilege to be the first to meet the people my sister has waited so long for," Senbi replies as he steps out from behind the counter to shake hands with Sebastian and Sven. When he gets to Twylla, however, he smiles. "Ahlan wa sahlan," he says as he puts his hands to her face and kisses both cheeks.

"She's from here," Kenari whispers in his ear as she rolls her eyes.

Sebastian exchanged Senbi's handshake firmly and with an honest smile. As everyone was shuffling in and exchanging greeting Sebastian slid next to Kenari. "Does your family know about your mother?" he asked in a whisper, "If not this dinner conversation will be even more strained than the car ride over here."

"They knew about her before I did," Kenari whispers in reply. "Trust me... things will become more clear after a full stomach."

 _What's that now?_ Twylla latches onto Senbi's words. Kenari has been waiting for them? Then, her original thought must be correct. This young lady must also be a child of the gods...

Twylla's train of thought is completely derailed, though, as Senbi lightly holds her face and kisses her on the cheeks. She blinks, startled. She had been in the process of holding out her hand to shake, just as the men had. This results in her lightly punching Senbi in the stomach, not hard enough to hurt but definitely enough to be felt.

"Oh! Oh, geez...I'm sorr...uhhh...ahem," Twylla quickly lowers her hand, blushes and smiles, trying to recover. "It's nice to meet you, too."

Kenari hides her laugh behind her hand as Senbi steps back with a slight wheeze. "I... meant no offense, lovely lady. It is but a greeting of respect from our homeland. It was my mistake."

He gestures to a beaded archway in the back of the store. "If you please, my family has put together a meal for us all."

Kenari moves closer to Twylla as they walk to the back. "He's not lying, you know... but he shouldn't have assumed you know of our ways," she whispers. "My apologies."

Twylla gives a soft groan and laugh, "No, no! You don't need to apologize for anything. I didn't mean to hit him! I was just holding out my hand to shake and he stepped in and I wasn't expecting it..."

She puts both hands up to her face, her shoulders sagging for a second, "First, I nearly cause an accident for your other brother and then I punch this one. I swear, I'm not trying to kill your family!"

"No harm done but to his pride," Kenari laughs as she pulls the beads aside for everyone. "I think he tries that one on _all_ the girls. The car accident... well... we'll talk about that after we eat."

"Ahlan wa sahlan, my new friends!" an older Egyptian man with grey hair and glasses exclaims with raised hands as he steps out of the kitchen followed by two younger men carrying bowls of food to the table.

"Please, make yourselves welcome and take a seat! The Kofta is almost finished!" There's a long table filled with bowls of food and place settings with cushions on the floor.

"I am glad to see that you are unharmed, miss," Haji says with a slight bow to Twylla after he sets down a bowl of Baba Ghanoush. "I would not forgive myself otherwise."

"All is as it should be, Haji," Kenari reassures her brother with a gentle hand to his shoulder. "Sebastian and I were on our way to dinner anyway... we just ended up changing the location."

The other larger man sets down a plate of Koshary filled with rice, pasta and lentils before crossing his arms and giving Kenari a raised eyebrow. She returns his look with a glare before turning and smiling to everyone.

"Father, Haji and Manu, may I introduce Sebastian, Sven, Twylla and her dog Rocco. My new friends and I have much in common to discuss... but first, we need to eat!"

"Yes, yes! Always better to talk with full stomachs," her father agrees. "Please, have a seat!"

Kenari crosses her legs and lowers herself gracefully onto a cushion before reaching over and scooping some shaved meat for the shwarmas into a bowl. "For Roscoe," she says as she hands it to Twylla. "I am a woman of my word."

"Thank you, sir!" Twylla smiles to the man who must be Kenari's father. As the smell of food wafts about her, she realizes that she's actually really hungry. She had been so befuddled by her visitation that she had only nibbled on a PopTart for breakfast.

"Oh, no," she turns and smiles at Haji. "If I had been hurt, it would've been entirely my own fault. I was lost in thought, not paying attention...I must've bumped into someone or something and..." She chuckles. "I'm just glad that you were quick on those brakes!"

"Ah! Thank you," Twylla grins and accepts the bowl. She turns to find Roscoe behind her, looking up at her like a gargantuan puppy, eyes wide and tongue lolling out in anticipation. "Come on, buddy."

She moves to a corner of the room where a bit of sunlight streams in, forming a warm patch on the floor. She sets the bowl down and Roscoe immediately horks down the delicious meat in a matter of seconds. He gives a contented huff, lays down in the sun and rolls onto his side, his eyes drifting shut. He seems not at all concerned about his human's safety, in this place.

Twylla goes back to the table and settles onto a cushion, cross-legged. She arranges her skirt for modesty and settles, perfectly comfortable. This is normally how she sits in all chairs, with her legs curled up under her. Moving to the floor, on cushions, feels natural, to her.

Sven hung back a second to give the knick-knacks in the shop a look-over. He was always fond of ethnic stuff - handcarved incense holders, golden-looking idols of various types, semi-precious stones fashioned into jewelry and various scrying devices. Some of the implements he recognized from his occult phase in college, others he couldn't tell if they had religious import or were just meant to part tourists of their vacation money.

He recognized her brother Haji as the taxi driver he had yelled at earlier, and despite his efforts to maintain an outward persona his shoulders slumped a bit in shame. "Hi there Haji, sorry for my rather rude behavior earlier."

"Not at all my friend, it was a harrowing experience for us all!" Haji assured him, shaking his hand earnestly. Sven went around the room making introductions with the rest of Kenari's family before settling onto a cushion in a half-lotus position. He hadn't had Egyptian food specifically before, but it seemed to match the general style and manner of other middle eastern cuisines, and he was comfortably familiar with the associated table etiquette.

Haji nods and smiles as he sits next to his father at the table. Manu sits on the other side, with Kenari next to him and Twylla on her other side. Kenari rolls her eyes as Manu sits down. "It's not like that!" she hisses quietly to him.

"That's what you said the last time," he whispers back as Kenari huffs in reply.

"Tsk! Guests!" the elder Sanura admonishes before gesturing to the others with a smile. "Have a seat and let me hear about yourselves! Eat! Eat!"

Sebastian glared rather pensively at the low table. _There are no chairs,_ he thought dully. While he was thinking everyone else had taken their seats. He moved to settle down next to Haji and struggled to mirror Sven's posture. His knee slipped hitting the table and sending his glass, full of a dark red drink, teetering dangerously on the white table cloth. Out of instinct his hand shot out to catch the glass mid-fall.

"Sorry about that," he mumbled looking towards his host apologetically. To his surprise everyone was staring at his glass in various degrees of surprise. He looked down at it to see about half the contents of the glass hanging in the air, near the glass. _Did I do that,_ he thought with disbelief. As the thought crossed his mind the floating mass of juice quivered a little and he realized he could feel a trickle of power flowing in his necklace. _God of Seas and Storms indeed,_ he mused as he willed the liquid back into the glass.

Out loud he merely spoke, "For my next trick, I shall die from embarrassment."

Sven froze after Sebastian's accidental display of power, a succulent piece of meat halfway to his lips. _Well it looks like there was a reason for going on this little adventure after all._

Keeping his voice calm, he deadpanned, "You'll have to teach me that one, I might save on dry cleaning."

Kenari smiles sincerely at Sebastian's display of power. "Well that answers _that_ question," she says with a small laugh as she sets down her fork.

"A month ago I was visited by my birth mother, Bast the Goddess of Cats," she begins as her family all pause to kiss a token or mutter a prayer under their breath. "My father had told me this story many times when I was young... but like a young disrespectful fool, I didn't believe him until she told me herself."

"Is that all she told you?" Twylla asks curiously.

"You would think that would be enough," Kenari chuckles, "but she told me more. She told me of _others_ who would come to me... those born of the Gods, yet not necessarily my own. And with that prediction came a dire warning: like she would slay the Apep every morning so Ra could conduct his chariot across the sky, I would be tasked with fighting evil so that others can do what they must to save the world and the broken Balance."

Sebastian cleared his throat and continued where Kenari left off, "I met my father last week, while falling from a plane with no parachute. He called himself Susano-O and is apparently Shinto god of Storms and Seas. He left me with a similar message; there is a storm coming and I must find others to help weather it. I didn't really have much time to press him for more info, what with the falling. I met Kenari later that night."

He glanced back at his drink, "Also that's a new trick for me. I figured flying was going to be the weirdest part of this."

Sven casually leaned back a little, and brushing his hand through his hair pricked his finger on Conscience. _Hey Christine, looks like I fell in with a pack of scions._

 _Sounds like your path is finally starting to show itself, I was getting tired of lugging you around._ She'd been prepping him the whole time since his encounter with his father, teaching him about the shadow world of half-Gods, taking him to gun ranges, and giving him stringent exercise regimens. He knew at some point he'd be called to service, whatever that really meant, but wasn't expecting that call to include dinner and a show.

 _How much should I reveal? I don't know them from Adam, do I tell them about you?_ Sven was pretty sure these were okay folks. While the world isn't black and white, it wasn't perfectly gray either - everyone here has 'clicked' with his measure of healthful personalities. _This is where the training wheels come off, Sven. You need to make those decisions for yourself. And - you should be paying attention._ With that she cut off the connection.

Ugh.

Still keeping his cards to his chest, he proffered, "Very interesting. And here I thought I was the only one. I found out a few years ago that my father is Tyr, a Nordic God of Justice and War. Although I think I tend more towards the justice side than the war bit. I would appreciate if nobody would tweet that or something, might hurt us in the next election cycle.

"Twylla, I'd take a wild guess that you've also got something special in your lineage? Or are we totally freaking you out right now?"

Twylla finishes chewing her bite of shawarma and swallows, wiping her mouth before gracing everyone at the table with a brilliant smile, "Actually, I'm relieved! Father said there would be others. I had no idea that I would meet you all so soon! I only learned of my heritage this morning."

She looks apologetically to Haji, "That's why I wasn't paying as much attention as I should have, earlier. I was thinking about what it all meant...how this changed things...what i would be called to do..."

Twylla trails off, chuckling at herself, "Sorry. I tend to ramble. I'm the daughter of Ptah, the Egyptian God of Creation."

"Ptah told me that there was a war coming, but that it wouldn't be my battle. I wouldn't be called to fight...but I'm not a warrior. So...yeah. Apparently, I'm to help heal and rebuild once the battle is over," she looks to Roscoe. "I think Roscoe is a gift from Ptah. He's my guardian."

She looks around the table, concern showing on her face, "Did your parents say anything specific about the battle? Ptah didn't offer much in the way of details."

Sebastian shook his head. "My conversation lasted maybe sixty seconds before he handed me a sword and told me to learn to fly." Sebastian scratched his head and continued, "He did give me an address to an old man here in town, a Shinto Priest I think, for guidance. So far all the old man has down is have me do chores around the temple while he tells of the Shinto mytho... uh... history, I guess. It's like I'm the Karate Kid, but I'm not learning Karate. What I have learned is the Shinto gods are rarely active outside of Japan. The fact that Pops even visited me means shit is real bad... or he got kicked out of heaven again. Apparently that's his shtick."

"I too believe in Justice, Sven," Kenari says as she runs the tip of her finger around the rim of her glass. "I just don't believe in waiting for politicians to give it to us." She sighs and takes a sip of her mint tea.

"The Gods are fond of their ambiguities," Kenari replies to Twylla as she sets down her drink. "They give us just enough knowledge to start down the road, but leave it up to us to decide where the journey takes us."

She gestures towards Twylla and Sven. "Not all battles are fought with tooth and claw. Many are fought with words and ideas... and I would like to think that's where your callings truly lie."

She places a hand gently over Twylla's and gives her a squeeze of comfort. "Make no mistake, my dear... we've _all_ been called to fight."

Twylla simply nods, considering Kenari's words. It's true that she's not a _physical_ fighter. But, hasn't she been fighting corruption for some time now, in her own way? Though quiet and anonymous, she has been pulling tidbits of dark information into the light, exposing underhanded dealings for what they are.

Still, she's not wrong in admitting that if the situation comes to blows, she's not going to be much help. Heh. When she was in college, Twylla's mother had insisted that she take a self-defense course, afraid for her daughter, away at campus and truly alone for the first time. Twylla had taken it, but she never enjoyed it and has forgotten everything...

...no. No. That's not right. She _hasn't_ forgotten. It's all there. Every move, every kick, every punch. It's still there. She simply hasn't thought about it in ages. But, it's all still there, along with her class syllabus. And the names of the streets she walked. And all her teacher's names...

Twylla blinks in astonishment, but says nothing. _Hey, I remember stuff!_ doesn't seem like it's all that pertinent to the current conversation, so she keeps quiet.

"True," she says with a smile. "Still, I'm glad that I have Roscoe. If push comes to shove, I like the idea of having a big, furry guardian to help me."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm quite capable of defending myself, just because I find the pen mightier than the sword doesn't mean I don't carry a sword," Sven said as he patted his shoulder holster. It was still concealed and under his jacket - it's rude to pull weapons out at the dinner table after all - but the indication was clear.

"I meant no offense, of course," Kenari replies smoothly, "but only that I feel our skills and experiences will each be important in their own way when the time comes. If the Gods chose a politician to be on their side, I can only imagine it will be to fight fire with fire... so to speak."

"You keep indicating that politicians are the enemy. And sure, in a corporeal sense, there's a lot of fuckery there that hurts people - excuse my language," he bowed a little to Kenari's father in deference.

"But while I've run into plenty of trolls, vampires, and succubi in my time at City Hall, none of them have been _literal_ trolls or vampires. At least not yet."

Kenari's father waves a placating hand. "Harsh times occasionally call for harsh language."

"Monsters come in all forms," Kenari replies with a frown. "The gentrification of New Orleans by the politicians and big businesses after Katrina would be enough to harden my heart against them, Sven. Sure the city is being rebuilt... but it's not being rebuilt for the poor. It's not being rebuilt for the unwanted masses that the rich hoped the flood waters would wash away."

Kenari's hand clenches as she talks and Manu lays a hand on her shoulder.

"The things I have seen from policemen and politician's aides and assistants who walk through my door... they do not bear repeating at a dinner table. So forgive me if I am biased, Sven. If you are truly a politician with a good heart, then I offer a prayer to your gods that you remain so."

Sven decided to bite his tongue for now. He knew intimately just how corrupt the political world was, especially behind closed doors. After all, by many definitions _he_ was corrupt, and could face serious consequences for some of the decisions he's made in Christine's name. And for all their efforts at changing New Orleans' path towards a brighter future, he had to admit that the incredible resistance they've faced against even the simplest issues proves Kenari's prejudice is not unfounded.

And if she feels opposed to gentrification, then again Sven's activities could well fall onto the wrong side of her moralities, no matter how noble Christine's vision felt to Sven. He was all for healthy debate, but he also knew there was a time and place for such things.

Sven nodded thanks to Kenari, indicating he wasn't going to press the issue further.

Twylla sits quietly, listening to Kenari and Sven. While her own opinion is that the vast majority of politicians and police are akin to sacks of snakes dipped in venom and sprinkled with glass shards...surely, not _all_ of them can be bad. It's just as dangerous for people on her side to make blanket assumptions as it is for the people on the other side. Still...people like Dick Asston certainly do their best to make it hard to keep that point in mind.

She casually swipes a piece of bread through the hummus on her plate and pops the tidbit into her mouth. It is delicious! Of course, she's always loved hummus but this...this must be homemade!

Deciding that a change of subject might be for the best, Twylla smiles and sucks a stray bit of hummus off her finger before turning to Kenari's father, "This is wonderful! Do you make it yourself?"

"Enough about the woes of the world," Kenari's father says to break the awkward silence. "Their time will come soon enough. Now is when we feast and rejoice with new friends, yes?"

He smiles at Twylla's words. "It is my grandmother's recipe passed down to me when she didn't have a daughter. I am sure she is smiling from Sekhet-Aaru, young lady. If you wish, I could teach it to you as my sons have no desire for culinary skills."

Haji scoffs. "Too busy helping with the store, Papa. Somebody else will have to cook for me."

Kenari's father whacks his son lightly on the back of the head. "With an attitude like that you'll be eating frozen dinners the rest of your life!"

Kenari smiles. "Too true, Papa." She pulls out a number of business cards from her pocket and passes them around the table. "We should all share our contact information so that we can reach each other when the time arises."

"Really? I'd love that! Thank you," Twylla grins, genuinely delighted to be offered this knowledge.

She chuckles at the exchange between father and son, "When I was young, my mom held two jobs to make ends meet. Once I was old enough to stay by myself, I became a latch key kid. So, I had plenty of nights with it just being me, at home, for dinner. It was either learn to cook or starve!"

Turning her attention back to Kenari, Twylla nods in agreement, "Let's see...Sebastian already knows how to contact me and so does Sven but...here, let me see my card, again, Sven." She holds out her hand.

Sven pulls out his wallet and retrieves the card, handing it back to her. Twylla then flips the card over and jots down a second number, her cell. Pulling out cards from her purse, she does the same for Sebastian and Kenari, so they both have her work and personal numbers.

Sven also passes around some business cards after scanning Kenari's into his phone and adding Twylla's personal number to her contact information.

"I don't have much of a personal life - that number goes direct to my cell, you can text it too. I also check my email pretty constantly. Although frankly, I'm not entirely sure what, exactly, we're calling each other about yet. The universe seems to have conspired to bring us together, but so far I'm not clear on what _for,_ besides great food and company."

"See? She works for herself and still learned how to cook," Kenari's father laughs as his sons roll their eyes. "Perhaps if I teach it to my daughter so that she may pass it on to you, I can kill two birds with one stone."

He chuckles as Kenari's reaction adds to that of her brothers. "Though it might have to be the other way around," he mock whispers.

 _"Anyway..."_ Kenari drawls, "if the Gods have deemed it necessary for us to meet, I assume it's for more than good company. Perhaps the signs for what we need to accomplish together will be visible to us sooner that we'd like."

"Perhaps it would behoove use to share a bit more about our talents, both mundane and divine. By doing so we might discern more about why we've been brought together and what we might hope to accomplish," Sebastian spoke out suddenly. "Personally I'm a pilot and meteorologist. I've also done some home building and a little martial arts." He looked down at his drink. "As far as divine gifts are concerned, it looks like I can... move liquids? I can also breath under water and I'm pretty sure I can actually fly, but I haven't tried since landing in the lake."

"Yeah, if we're being tapped, then I figure that whatever is about to go down is close to happening," Twylla agrees. "That's a good idea, Sebastian. If something does happen, suddenly, then we should have the information so we know who best to contact, if we need to."

Twylla takes a sip of wine before continuing, "I'm a programmer. I know several computer languages and how to use a plethora of tools to make just about anything that you may need. I also know how to repair and build electronics. In my spare time, I'm working on creating a video game. I do my own coding and graphics, but I'm going to need someone else to do music and sound effects."

"As far as divine powers go...I don't know. Not much has been revealed to me, yet. I do know, though, that I can remember things...like... _everything._ If I've seen it, read, it lived it...I remember it. I can tell you the names of my classmates from kindergarten!"

Sven thought a moment, finally deciding to keep his connection with Christine to himself for now, as well as the magical properties of his ear stud. It would beg too many questions about Christine's heritage, and he wasn't quite sure how this crowd would react to the knowledge that an elected official is a scion.

"I've found I have a real knack for getting people to... cooperate since I met my father. That's come in _real_ handy for work." Sven was only half joking with that emphasis, but he coughed and squirmed a little at the mixed facial reactions he received. He wasn't sure just how moral it was for him to use what feels like divine compulsion in civil service, but he figured he wouldn't have been given the abilities if he wasn't supposed to use them.

"I'm also able to tell when someone is guilty, which has been a real boon. I inherited a handgun too, although so far it hasn't started shooting magic bullets or anything so it may just be, well, a really cool handgun." He brought it out after motioning for and receiving permission from Kenari's father. It was a finely crafted Smith & Wesson revolver, the handle being polished bone with a Nordic rune that looked like a capital 'T'. "The handle is evidently carved from the tooth of a giant wolf named Fenrir. Norse mythology is... pretty grim, but worth the Wikipedia search at least."

Even though he was living proof that the Norse - and other - Gods truly exist, he generally considered religious texts and dogmas to be more myth than fact. Whatever kernels of truth they held must be distorted and reinterpreted over the eons between now and their origins.

"My abilities tend to be more... _physical_ in nature," Kenari adds. "While I am able to consult my cards and obtain actual visions into the future, it seems that the stronger the visions are, the stronger my migraines become afterwards. Foreknowledge always _did_ come with a price."

She takes a drink to wet her lips and then calls out, "Matit! Come to me, please!"

After a few moments a male tomcat on the larger side comes strolling into the room. When he spies the sleeping dog in the corner its tail begins to bristle as it lets out a low growl.

"I _know_ it's a dog, but he's only temporary and doesn't mean any harm. Now get over it and come here!" Kenari admonishes the cat with a sigh. The cat's tail lowers and he moves to curl up beside Kenari with his head resting on her thigh.

"I can communicate with and understand cats of all kinds," Kenari explains as she scratches the cat under his chin and he starts to purr. "I can also see in the dark, track someone through a crowded city, and run and climb with great agility. I too am blessed, or perhaps cursed, with knowing when someone is guilty. And of course, there's knowing a scion when I smell one."

"Do scions stink or something?" Twylla asks with a shocked look before taking a sniff at herself. "I don't smell horrible, do I?"

Kenari chuckles as her family does their best to hide their grins. "Nothing like that I assure you. You... you smelled like home to me, Twylla. Hot sands and dust and incense. Sebastian here, he smelled of the sea and cherry blossoms, and Sven the smell of the air after an electrical storm."

She shrugs. "I'm not for certain as you three are the first other scions I've met... but I believe that maybe each god, or at least each pantheon, holds a particular scent to them."

"Well, it sounds like we have a good mix of skills, both mundane and divine," Twylla muses once everyone is finished. "Hopefully, we'll be able to handle whatever is about to be thrown at us."

"I have to admit, I'm more than a little nervous, at this point. Is this whole thing going to be BIG-BADA-BOOM obvious or will it be something subtle and insidious that could blindside us?" She sighs and absently pops another bit of hummus coated pita in her mouth, "I guess all we can do is keep our eyes open..."

"That makes a good point," Sebastian mused aloud, "What could have GODS so worried that they've started activating sleeper agents in New Orleans en mass? Nothing really big has happened here since Katrina and that was ten years ago. Could it have something to do with the anniversary?" He paused to stuff some of the unusual food in his mouth. It was certainly tasty. "I mean if the gods are real does that mean other shit is too? Do we have to worry about actual vampires or werewolves or orcs or whatever? Or is this big storm going to be at the hands of other gods and their munchkins?"

"This world provides enough monsters on its own, whether influenced by Set or not," Kenari replies to Sebastian."The Gods believe that we can accomplish whatever task they desire if we work together... and I have to believe them."

Kenari's father nods as he pats Haji's hand. "I have found that there is much one can accomplish through the strength of family... whether it be by blood or otherwise."

Kenari nods. "And at least now we know that if we _do_ encounter something that seems beyond our ken... we're not alone. If the Gods grace me with more information through my visions, or I hear anything out of the ordinary, I will be sure to contact all of you."

She gestures to the table. "In the meantime, please, enjoy what my family has provided. And Twylla... if you like, we do have a shrine in the back dedicated to our gods that I could show you if you wish."

"I would wager that there's a lot of things that we thought were fairy tales that are all too true. All those legends that we've heard passed down? Yeah, I'm betting there's more truth in them than we ever thought," Twylla says. "If the gods are real and have been knocking heels with humans since...forever...well, that would mean that other events have gone down in the past. And, who knows what those were like? What was involved?"

Twylla's mind wanders for a moment, running over the mythology that she had learned in school. Her chewing slows and she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing as the tales of Zeus' 'romances' return to her in full force. Yeah. Hopefully, the particulars on those aren't true...

Kenari's words draw her attention back to the table, and she blinks. The young tech smiles and nods, "I'd like that, I think. It's kind of weird, though. I mean, I've never been overly religious or anything and I suddenly learn that my dad is a god. How do I talk to him? How do I treat him?"

She seems to consider this for a moment and smiles, "He seemed nice. Before I knew who he was and that I wasn't just dreaming, we had a great time together...building...creating...laughing..."

Sven's started staring off into space a bit as his mind raced with all of this new information. "Well, we should put together a sort of early-warning plan. If we were indeed brought together to face an imminent threat - a threat that we know nothing about - then the only thing we can do is to make sure we're able to face it head on no matter how or where it materializes. You know, like a Bat Signal."

He glanced down at Matit, "Or a Cat Signal, as it were."

"What kind of phones does everyone have?" Twylla asks. "iPhone has a group text function built in and you can get Go SMS Pro for the Andriod that will let you do the same thing."

"If we agreed on a '911' code that could be sent out with a single tap, that would go a long way towards alerting everyone that there is a problem quickly and easily," Twylla says. "On good days, we can just type in what the problem may be, but I can imagine us being in an emergency situation where we don't have that luxury."

"If someone sends up the Bat Signal, what should our first response be?"

"Perhaps talking to him as your father might be a good start," Kenari's father replies to Twylla with a knowing smile. "If he chooses not to answer, we also have many books that could be of assistance that I would gladly loan you, young lady."

Kenari laughs as Matit meows at Sven. "I don't think he wants to be our personal messenger."

 _Burner phones... probably your best bet..._ the voice speaks through her earcuff. _A lot less traceable that way._

"Perhaps if we all bought disposable phones and put only our numbers on them?" Kenari suggests. "That way we know it's one of us calling."

"I think that's a good idea Kenari. Maybe we can load up a few other tricks to it besides mass messaging, such as tying all the GPS locators together or something. Burners would also help in case our enemies are more in my ring, where electronic snooping is a matter of course.

"Twylla, do you have the bandwidth to put a tech package together for all of us?"

"We should also have a rendezvous point. While it might be convenient to meet at someone's house," Sebastian said, waving his hand to indicate their present location, "I worry that in an emergency situation we may not want to get family, friends, and neighbors potentially caught in the crossfire. In that regard, I do have a small private hanger where my plane is kept. It is relatively secluded and secure and could serve as a base of operations. I can get you guys access keys to it, if you want."

He paused for a moment before adding, "And worst case scenario could provide a good emergency escape route."

"Absolutely!" Twylla smiles, "I can also bounce our signals around, as need be...make it hard for anyone to trace us."

Shrugging, she smiles and says, "I'm on the security team, at work. Part of my job is white hat hacking. So, I know a few tricks."

"That's a good idea. While there's no one who could get caught up at my place, it's not exactly big enough for a large group of people. And, I like the idea of having an escape route," Twylla says. She decided to simply not think about the fact that that particular route would involve flying.

She then looks to Kenari's father and smiles in return, "That sounds like good advice. And, Ptah seemed open to chatting so...who knows?"

"Thank you, Sebastian," Haji says as his father and brothers nod. "I appreciate your willingness to keep our family from what harm may come."

"Fantastic, thanks Sebastian. We should stock it up with some supplies too, bug out bags and such.

"I'll also say that while my office at City Hall is probably a little too high profile, I keep a personal office near City Park that everyone is free to take advantage of. The door is sturdy and it locks up tight, but it's semi residential out there so it's not a good place to bring unwelcome guests. I've got some emergency supplies stored there too, just don't go rifling through my files, if you please - you may not like what you find. I'll get some keys made."

"Excellent... it seems we are all of an accord, then," Kenari says with a smile as she claps her hands together. "Whatever may come, I feel better knowing that this meeting has come to pass."

Her head tilts slightly as she listens to the voice in her ear.

"Seeing as Sebastian's location is a place of business, it may be easier for us to meet there under the pretense of skydiving lessons or whatnot. It's also more out of the way should something occur that we're not prepared for."

She takes a drink and nods at Sven. "Perhaps your residence should be kept as an emergency location in case Sebastian's becomes compromised? Especially if your 'bug out bags' are prepared and kept there."

"Right now there's only the one bag but I can get the supplies for more easily. And yes, it's cramped anyways, so definitely more of a temporary safe house than command center. It doesn't even have a sink, I use the bathroom at the Burger King on the corner."

Sven started a mental checklist of what he'd need to restock at the office in the unfortunate event that someone needs to rely on it. He also started to think about which files he should shred in case such an unfortunate visitor got nosy. Maybe move some of the still-leveragable materials to a storage locker, or bite the bullet and digitize them.

"Then if all is agreed, we will go our separate ways after we eat and meet at Sebastian's hanger in... what... a weeks' time, perhaps? That should be enough time to prepare the phones, and if anything strange should happen in the meantime we will be able to share our experiences."


	3. Secrets Exposed

(Stormwatch Hangar - 6PM)

The day ends back where it began, the Stormwatch hangar. Kylia has finished working on 'her baby,' and found time to shower and change into street clothes, rather than wait around in a grease-stained set of coveralls.

"The underwater rig is a gem. And it's good footage," Rob says. "Interspersed with file from 2010, there's enough for anything from a mini-package for our own show, or a half-hour standalone."

"Need some interviews to make it pop. Some locals, someone from the University, even flashbacks from the crew," Ryan says. "Then we can gin up a narrator's track for TWC by Monday or Tuesday."

"Sounds good," Sebastian says. He glances at Diana, who crosses her arms and looks at him expectantly.

"So, what's this 'I wasn't wearing a chute' story you were babbling about back at the crime scene?" she asks, immediately putting you on the spot.

Sebastian grimaced at the accusation in her tone, but told the whole truth. The story didn't take very long but when he finished it was pretty clear none of them believed him.

"You expect us to believe that load of horse-shit," Diana asked pulling out her phone.

"Not without proof," he responded, opening up his locker and pulling out Arashi. _Good thing I put it in there when we got back,_ he thought watching Diana carefully. "Just watch." He grabbed the handle, drew the blade just the barest amount and started concentrating. Practice since his fall had granted him some level of mastery and quickly a moderate breeze picked up inside the still hanger. In moments his feet were off the ground and the crew's collective jaw was on it. He took a few slow laps around the hanger and performed a few loops including around the wing of the plane to emphasize the lack of any cables.

He landed gracefully in front of Diana and fully sheathed the sword. The wind died down instantly. "Believe me now?"

"I've seen car hoods driven through trees by tornadoes," Diana says. "I've seen hurricanes wreak havoc no one anticipated. Our business goes hand-in-hand with the unexpected, but this ..."

"It sure looked real," Rob says. "But I'm with Diana. I feel like I'm getting punked. Doing a Peter Pan around the hangar doesn't prove anything - stage magicians have been doing that one since I was a kid."

"He can climb up the old tower on the North Field and push him off," Kylia suggested.

"Look, all he has to do is float in midair for a moment, and we can wave broom handles or whatever around him, right?" asked Ryan.

"Still in the room," you point out. This isn't really going how you expected ... but, then, what _did_ you expect? You're actually kind of flattered that the rest of Stormwatch crew is approaching this so rationally.

Well, at least for now. That might change when the others show up.

"I should also mention I can breathe underwater and go all _Avatar_ with a bucket of water." he said, upending a bottle of water and suspending it as globe in air. "The others all have their own things. None quite as flashy as mine though."

"What the hell is _this,"_ Kenari mutters to herself as she pulls up her bike to see a number of cars outside the hangar. She focuses her eyes to peer through the darkness to see a license plate dimly lit by a lone street light. "NLM 505... recognize it?"

 _Registered to one Diana Tribbit, currently employed as a member of Stormwatch. Looks like Sebastian forgot to share the guest list._

"Shit... what's the point of secrecy and burner phones if you're just going to have a Show and Tell without asking?" she mutters as she pulls out her phone to send a text to Sebastian.

 _Thought we'd b meeting w/o unexpected guests. Whole point of hangar/phones. WTF_

It's about this time that Kenari looks over to see Twylla's El Camino rumbling into the lot, Roscoe sitting up in the back, his jowls and ears flapping merrily in the wind.

Spotting Kenari, she pulls into a space next to her. Roscoe hops out and lopes over to greet the Scion of Bast, tail wagging.

"What's going on?" Twylla asks, spotting all the cars. She recognizes them as belonging to the rest of the Stormwatch team.

"Near as I can tell Sebastian decided to invite his team to our private gathering," Kenari replies with a scowl. "I must have missed the memo where we agreed on this."

She gestures with her cell phone. "I sent him a text to see what's going on before I go any closer."

She slips the phone into the breast pocket of her leather jacket and pulls out a thin black cigarette and a lighter as she sits back on her bike. "I take it you've had an interesting day since you called this meeting?"

The buzz of his phone disrupted is concentration right as Rob was looking at the water orb from below. "What was that for?" he sputtered.

"Sorry. Still new at this. Flying is easier." Sebastian said as he pulled out his phone. "Uh oh."

"Something wrong?" Diana asked, concerned.

"Looks like some of the others are less than thrilled that you guys are here." he said with a frown, "Let me go out and make peace. Wait here."

After getting a nod from each of them, Sebastian walked out talk with Kenari.

Kenari flicks cigarette ash away from her and lets out a slow cloud of smoke. "Sebastian," she says dryly. "Either our group is larger than I thought, or you told somebody about us."

She glances at the cars in the parking lot before looking back at him. _"Multiple_ somebodies. Care to explain?"

"Aw, don't jump to conclusions, Kenari," Twylla smiles good-naturedly, ready to give Sebastian the benefit of the doubt. "I mean, weather doesn't exactly abide by our schedule. With the thing on the beach and whatnot, work could've just run late."

"Work did run late, right?" she looks to Sebastian, hoping that she's right.

Sebastian shook his head. "They called me on my strange behavior lately and with stumbling on that murder this morning, Diana was thinking I might have been involved in a more nefarious way than I am. So I told them the truth." He shrugged before continuing, "And before anyone gets all indignant, the Storm Watch has faced death more than once. We count on each other to watch our collective asses every time we go out into the field. But they were beginning to feel they couldn't trust me. Without that trust, people can die."

He looked Kenari directly in the eyes. "Besides... They are my _family_.

Twylla stands there, one hand resting on Roscoe's head. Honestly, she can't argue with that. If they were getting suspicious, Sebastian had to do _something._ She waits quietly to see how Kenari will react.

"What you tell your friends about yourself is your business, but you had no right to tell them about the rest of us, Sebastian. Your family has just been confronted with the fact that their friend and confidant now has potentially dangerous 'super powers' and the knowledge that an unknown number of people around them could be the same, while my family has known we've existed for generations," Kenari replies as she tosses her cigarette away.

"Can you honestly say that they will be so accepting? That they won't let something slip to the wrong person or post a video from their phone on Facebook?"

She sighs in frustration and runs a hand through her hair before regaining her calm composure. "Look, Sebastian... they're your friends, and I get that... but you should've talked to us first. After I share what I found, you might regret bringing them into this."

Twylla nods, "Someone is looking for us, Sebastian. Catherine Martinez had a file on her computer labeled "scions," and it contained our names, addresses..."

She frowns, "And the Feds were already in _Socialize!'s_ system. Black ice level shit. I knew they were being called in to help search for Catherine, likely as a favor by Petrelli's father since he used to work for some alphabet agency. But, they were already there, Sebastian. That security network had already been established. I'm pretty sure of that."

"Someone has been watching us."

"Look I understand your concerns, Kenari. So far only Diana knows anything about you guys. If you want I can send the crew home, but knowing them they will want to help."

He turns to Twylla, "You know them Twylla. Telling them that this is going to be dangerous will most likely increase their drive to help. And if the government is after us having a support network will be vital."

Kenari sighs as she gets off her bike. "No... what's done is done, and their fates are now entwined with yours." She motions with her hand towards the hangar as if to say _after you._ "Just keep in mind that if I want people to know anything about me, it's because I told them myself, OK?"

 _I'll set up some programs to key in on any mentions of real people with powers or abilities on the internet, as well as keep a tab on their social presence just in case..._

Twylla nods, thinking about all of it for a moment before answering. Inwardly, she snorts in amusement. Teams of people who jump out of perfectly good airplanes _for fun_ aren't going to be deterred by much, that's for sure. And, unlike Kenari, she has a history with these people. She trusts them. The question is, will they be in danger no matter what?

The files she grabbed showed that Kenari's family was being watched. So, the whole Stormwatch team could be under surveillance, too. They work closely. It would make sense to keep en eye on all of them. If they are already being watched, then...perhaps forewarning is warranted, after all.

"Let me check something, real quick," she says. She leans in through the open window of her car and snags her laptop. Flipping it open, she reaches into her top and pulls a thumb drive out from where she had secured it to a bra strap. She pops it into a slot and pulls up the list, doing a search for the rest of the Stormwatch team.

Twylla's search does yield the names of the Stormwatch team, though the results are varied. Diana Tribbit is marked negative, Ryan Kingsley, Kylia Cota, and Rob Wilkins are all assigned percentages (ranging from a coin toss to 75%). Todd Crimson is marked MIA/Unknown.

"Hey, guys...whoever it is is already watching the whole team," she looks to Kenari and Sebastian, sighing. "They were already involved before Sebastian even said anything. It's probably best that they do know what is going on, in that case."

She closes her laptop but does not power it down. She's certain that the rest of the team will want to see this...if they will even believe that it's not something that she cooked up for... _reasons._ Twylla can't even fathom why anyone would think she'd make a fake list like this but, who knows?

"Let's go see everyone," she says. "Oh! And let me text Sven so he's not surprised when he pulls up."

 _Stormwatch team knows about Sebastian. They are all here. Just a heads up. Kenari and I already arrived._

She then turns to follow the others into the hangar.

They walk back into the hanger and Sebastian clears his throat, "Alright team, before we go any further I want to make a few things perfectly clear. One: what is discussed among this group stays within this group just like the time we had to sneak into Cuba for emergency repairs. This is not part of the show. This is not going on social media." They all nodded solemnly, though Ryan had a puzzled look on his face since he hadn't been part of the team then.

"Second," he continued, "Is this is likely to be dangerous. Not "ripped apart by a tornado" dangerous; we're talking "kidnapping, murder, and torture" type danger. Somebody is trying to find people like us and we don't know why. That murder this morning is tied in. If you aren't up for it you are free to take off, no judgement."

Sven texted back, _Really? WHY?_

Sven stopped driving towards the hangar and pulled over to think. He had kept his scion-inity a secret only shared by Christine for years. That silence only broke when he fell into meeting the rest of his... cousins? Plus Kenari's family. Now a bunch of thrill-seekers on a TV show he never even met know far more about him than he liked.

Sven hadn't had a chance to connect with Christine yet about the aftermath of her meeting with the Chief of Police earlier. He pricked his finger on his earring and broadcasted, _Hey Christine, any fallout from the meeting? It sounds like I've lost control of our little secret, seems our Scion Club is making privacy decisions without me._

Hearing the beep on her burner, Twylla figures Sven has gotten her message and has questions. Falling a step or two behind Sebastian so she doesn't draw attention away from him, she replies quickly.

 _Diana got suspicious of behavior at beach. Called him out. Don't think he's said anything about us. Just himself._

* * *

"As the saying goes, three can keep a secret if two of them are dead," Christine says, dryly. "Someone always sees or hears something they shouldn't, Sven. It's more dangerous now, with the internet, but even though Father and the others are considered 'mythology,' people end up being drawn to us. In some cases, we shape their fate; in others, they shape ours."

"You'll have to establish your own terms. If we need to, we can disappear and re-establish ourselves anywhere on the planet," she tells you. Knowing Christine, this isn't wishful thinking - it's a plan, with resources and contingencies. And yet, it doesn't feel right - you've never run from a fight in your life, and you're not about to start now.

"As for Detective Spinelli, she will be useful. An exemplar to direct future conversations about the department. Ashton can change his ways, or be left behind."

Sven hadn't told Christine about his discussion with Art, he kept the dirtier laundry to himself. He stewed, half of his brain processing how to react to this breach, the other half contemplating the bug-out option. Finally he projected back, _No, I don't think we need to skedaddle. We run into the fire, not away from it. I think I'm going to lay the rest of my cards on the table tonight, including letting them know about you, but only after I take some... precautions. Thanks Christine, see you tomorrow._ Christine closed the connection after sending a sort of mental friend-hug feeling.

Making up his mind, he sent a mass text to the rest of the group before driving the remaining 5 minutes to the hangar. _Please keep Stormwatch on the premises, and please don't talk about anything til I get there._

* * *

"Personally I think the fact that they're being watched is even more reason _not_ to go broadcasting your secret to them," Kenari mutters to herself. "Which he'd know... if he waited to talk to us."

She stops before the door and sighs. "Put on your face... time to find out what they actually know." Her lips curve into a seductive smile that she's practiced in the mirror for years before she opens the door and saunters into the hangar to meet his crew.

Sven drove right up to the hangar and stormed in. He was visibly trying to control his anger. "Hello everyone, hello Stormwatch. I understand we have some introductions to make. But before we do that - before anyone is going to leave this hangar- " Sven flipped open his suit jacket and flashed his shoulder holster to varying reactions of alarm, "We are going to have a discussion about privacy."

Having gotten the attention in the room, he made cool eye contact with everyone individually before continuing, "My name is Sven Merrick. As some of you may or may not know, I work in City Hall. As some of you may or may not know, I also happen to be the child of a God. I want to make it _crystal_ clear that I will bring my full force to bear in both of those arenas against anyone who betrays this group.

"I have a magic power. And that power is to know when someone is _lying._ I am going to go person by person and make sure we do not have a security leak present in this room. I will ask a simple question - 'Do you plan to fuck over anyone in this room'. You will answer yes or no. Simple enough?"

"Would now be a good time to say that I'm an atheist?" Rob smiled weakly.

Diana crosses her arms somewhat defiantly. "That would go both ways, wouldn't it? You have a magic power, we don't. What assurances are you going to put on the table so we know _you_ won't fuck _us_ over?"

"I'm out," Kylia says. "I joined Stormwatch because we all have a shared passion for what we do. Not to get accused of being ready to fuck someone over for a buck or a pat on the head."

"Kylia, wait," Ryan pleaded. "Don't go. Let Sebastian say his piece."

Kylia works her jaw as she reconsiders, then puts her duffel bag down.

"Shit. Make it good, Sebastian," Ryan says.

"Oh for the love of..." Twylla facepalms. Sebastian had specifically said that only Diana knew names.

"Well, Sven...actually, they _didn't_ know about us, specifically, until you burst in here all guns ablazin'. They were only told 'others exist.' Not specific names."

"And, exactly what the _hell_ do you think you are doing barging in here and threatening people?" The normally cheerful, laid-back tech bristles, anger starting to light her eyes. She stalks up to Sven, putting herself between him and the rest of the crew. She pokes him squarely in the chest, "These are good people. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let you try to scare them or hurt them, throwing around your power like...like..."

She trails off, too angry even form the words. _Like some of the asshat cops that push around the brown folk because they can. Like the politicians that push the poor aside because they have the power to do so. Just like Sven has the power to do this..._

Twylla stands there and, though she is shorter and smaller than Sven, certainly weaker and with no training in fighting, she does not back down.

"Let Sebastian handle this," she states through gritted teeth. "This is his team. He knows them better than you. Hell, I know them better than you. So, back the fuck off... _politician._ "

Sven averted his eyes a bit, not meeting Twylla's glare, but he didn't change his posture. "The very fact that I am a politician is why I cannot take any chances. If I am betrayed, if someone here isn't able to stand above board, then it's not my own life I'm concerned about. I stand here representing Councilwoman Porter. I stand here representing the people who voted for her. I stand here representing the people we are working to protect, and the lives we work to improve. If the details of my heritage get leaked on a level where my job is impacted, everything, _everything_ that we have worked towards goes down the shitter. I can't let that happen, and I will _never_ let that happen, I can swear that to you on my Father's name."

He turned to look expectantly at Sebastian, not so much seething now, but determined in his course.

Somewhat mollified, Twylla crosses her arms and steps back from Sven. "Still doesn't give you the right..." she mutters angrily.

She, too, looks to Sebastian, wondering what he's going to make of this mess.

Sebastian was very still, except for the hint of a breeze sending his hair and clothes dancing. He is still holding Arashi and now the blade is about three inches out of the sheath.

"Sven, since you can tell when someone is lying listen closely because I am only going to say this once." his voice dangerously quiet, "If you so much as think about going for that gun, I'm going to make it you look a lot more like daddy. This is my home and my family you just threatened and that is not the way we do things here. If you have a problem with my team knowing than your problem is with me, not them. If that's the only way you know how to operate than it would best for everyone if you don't come back here. Regardless, you have my word that your secret is safe with them. And I don't need to swear upon someone else's name. I'll swear it on _my_ name."

He pauses a moment and looks at each of them in the room.

"Perhaps I should have given the rest of you a warning that the rest of the Storm Watch would be here. My bad, it must have slipped my mind with the recent murder. But for fuck's sake there was a dead woman on the beach today and if she wasn't one of us then she at least knew about us. I'm not big on secrets and I'm a terrible liar so this whole Peter Parker shit wasn't working out for me. And these 4 people are the bravest, smartest, and most trust-worthy people I know. More importantly without each and every one of them I wouldn't be here today. So if you want Sebastian Vogel, you get the Storm Watch because without them I am not whole."

Sebastian leveled his gaze to his team, "I could really use your help on this but I'm not going to force the issue. If you don't want in on this it's your call. It won't change my opinion of you or endanger your job. You can walk out that door right now _with no questions asked._ " Sebastian glared at Sven and emphasized the last few words sliding Arashi out another inch.

"There is danger coming and whatever these "gods" are, they think we are the ones to stand against it. So I say stand we do. Together."

Sven blinked as he felt power surging through him from Sebastian's words. He turned and faced Sebastian squarely, but didn't escalate the situation and kept his hands from his jacket.

"I'm not here to have a dick measuring contest. I'm here to ensure that we haven't been compromised. And you're right, it _is_ you I have a problem with. I don't care if they're your until-recently conjoined twins, you don't go around telling people about us - about _me_ \- without consequence. If I don't leave here tonight without expecting a knife in my back, then I will indeed not be coming back. I won't allow the safety of those who depend on me to be compromised again. And that includes disappearing to lands unknown, if that's what I need to do to protect this city and its people from my mistakes.

"So the choice is posed. We're either all of us," he swept his gaze at Kylia, _"all_ of us in this together, or I start mitigating my losses, Gods be damned. We don't have to do it my way, but it must be done."

"We make a living chasing hurricanes and tornados, and he asks, 'Are you in?'" Kylie rolls her eyes. "Sure. I'm game."

"I'm in," Rob says. "I've always said that the only thing that could change my opinion about there not being a god would be hard evidence. I still don't entirely believe this stuff, even when it's you, Sebastian. But I'd kick myself if I backed away now."  
Ryan paces back and forth, running his fingers through his hair. "Fuck. I'm good with maps and statistical models. Gods and goddesses and demigods? Fuck. I'm good, but it's like this morning. I feel like I'm about to throw up."

"You always were good with a sales pitch," Diana says. "And I hate to pour ice water on things, but I won't even go as far as Rob. I'll be here for you, but I don't want any part of this. I don't want to know your names, or special powers, or who's your mommy or daddy. I'm sorry."

Kenari walks past Sven with a smile and a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sven dear, I thought politicians offered bribes first before threatening people."

She turns to Sebastian's crew. "You'll have to forgive us... we are all rather high strung after discovering that a woman was killed because she knew about scions. When we heard that Sebastian told you all we didn't know _what_ to think. All your lives are now potentially in real danger... whether it's from our government trying to track us or whoever might be trying to kill us."

She gestures to Sven. "He really does mean well and he's trying to improve this city... he just has a lot to lose... as we all do, if that information fell into the wrong hands."

She sighs. "If you want no part of this I understand, and we will find a new place to meet and stay out of your lives. I only hope that whoever has been keeping a record of _all_ of us will do the same."

Twylla shakes her head in disgust at Sven's ultimatum. _Better do as I say or I'm going to take my marbles and go home,_ Politicians. Bah!

She takes a deep breath and says nothing. Twylla can clearly see that Kenari is trying her best to smooth things over and she can't think of anything to say about the situation that wouldn't make it worse.

Instead, she turns her attention to Ryan, who seems to be taking this worse than anyone else. Sure, Diana is dead-set that this is all nonsense, but she seems fairly calm about it. Poor Ryan looks practically green around the gills.

She moves to him and catches his arm gently, stopping him in mid-pace, "Hey, Ryan. Look, ummm...magic...you know, it's, it's...not so different than science."

Her anger quickly dissipates as she turns her mind to this new idea, and the task of comforting her friend, "Think about it. We do things now that someone from the Middle Ages would think was sorcery, right? Clearly, it's not. We know it's not because we better understand the world and how things work, now. I think that's all that our magic really is: a new science. It only seems impossible and illogical because it's something that we haven't had the chance to study, to quantify."

"Record? What record?" _God, what a clusterfuck. I never should have come here. When did I get so sloppy? I never even did a background check on these people. I don't even know these StormWatch people's names._

Sven took a deep breath and looked around with some clarity. Kenari having to play the placating host with a petulant child up past his bedtime. Sebastian ready to pull a fucking _katana_ to defend his friends. Twylla, innocent little Twylla, getting in his face and now showing such compassion for one of the crewmembers he had actually managed to put the fear of god into.

 _What have I become?_

Sven suddenly slumped down, sitting on a supply crate.

He turned his head to Diana, and put his fist to his chest, over his heart. He pulled from the pit of power in his stomach, almost literally radiating with sincerity. "I don't know you. And that scares me."

He glanced around the room and back to her. "But you don't know me either, and I'm the idiot waving a gun around. I'm sorry. I make no excuses, but please believe me - people have put their faith in me, and I cannot betray that. As scary or confusing as it may be for you right now, imagine how it is for me - for us. We didn't exactly get a user manual."

"Twylla said someone's been keeping tabs on us," Diana said. "All of us. And that makes me wonder about the lock-cutting on the North Field. Nothing was missing ..."

"Oh, come on. No one is listening in on us," Rob says, holding a finger to his lips. "That's a silly idea."

"Rob's right," Ryan says, making a rabbit-ears sign. "I think we're all a little on edge from this morning."

Rob moves towards the drone locker and takes out a small module. He turns it on and begins walking around the hangar ...

"Are you picking up anything interesting coming from here?" Kenari whispers to her guide as she looks out the window nervously.

Sebastian holds out a beer to Sven. "I think we've both been jack asses tonight," he said quietly,

"Truce?" He was holding his own beer and his sword was leaning against the far wall from where Sven was sitting. He sat down next to Sven and gestured at Rob and Ryan working. "They do good work," he said and then took a drink.

"Hey, Kylia, did you check the doohickey on the plane?" Rob asks.

"I told you before, Rob, it's not the interface," Kylia sighs. "You've got some wires crossed on your toys."

"Well, _something_ is interfering with the drones," he says. "Crap. I guess I have to take them apart again."

He sets down the unit, its antenna pointing in a specific direction and the display clearly registering another signal. He picks up a clipboard and scribbles LISTENING DEVICE on a piece of paper.

"I thought you said the new drones would solve that problem," Diana frowned. "How much time will it take?"

"I honestly don't know," Rob said, throwing up his hands. He looks at Sebastian and the others. "What do you want me to do?"

Sven only hesitated briefly before taking the beer and clinking it against Sebastian's, mollified. "I'm sure they do. I can't even begin to understand how closely you all need to depend on each other just to do a single scene, flying into tornadoes and shit."

Sven took a small swig but otherwise just slowly swirled the beer around, keeping his eyes downcast. "Look, I'm sure they're good people. but we're facing real danger here. We godlings have a little extra oomph and are able to defend ourselves, more or less. But these guys are just quote unquote mere mortals. We can't just throw them in the mix willy nilly. I'll trust your judgment of them - I have to at this point anyways - but we need to be more careful about who we bring in. Imagine if we lose someone? I don't want to put your friends in any danger, any more than I want to endanger the people I work with."

Twylla sighs, crossing her arms as she watches the others go about the task of searching for listening devices.

Her anger was already dissipating before Sven made his speech. At his heartfelt words of apology and his confession of uncertainty and fright, she lets it all go, though. Of course he's scared. They _all_ are, most likely. They are being watched by someone, the purpose of which remains unknown. Could it be just because they are scions, curiosity driving then with the need to document them like someone else might search for sasquatch? She snorts softly to herself. Unlikely. With the murder and the Feds being called in, that likelihood is slim to nil, and Slim just left town.

She walks over and puts a hand on Sven's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Leaning over so she can whisper, Twylla says, "I'm sorry, too. We're all scared."

Then, a thought occurs to her and she reaches into her purse, pulling out a small notebook. Quickly, she scribbles a message there that she shows to Sven and Sebastian.

 _Whoever is listening must have heard us fight. Maybe they don't hear us making up. Can we use the ploy of a fracture in our group to our advantage, somehow?_

Silently, Twylla waves Kenari over so that she can show her the message, too.

Sebastian stood up and set his beer down. "We're gonna have to fix them for tomorrow's shoot even if it takes all night," he said as he crossed to the whiteboard As he continued to talk, he started writing on the board. _Twylla can you crack in to the signal?_

"As for you Sven," Sebastian shouts, "If I ever see you here again I'm going to do more than punch you." _Play along_ was written on the board as he spoke.

Kenari catches Twylla waving out of the corner of her eye and walks over to read the note before scribbling down her reply.

 _Talking with a friend of mine to see if they can track the signal, but two heads are better than one. If someone knows we're all here I want to make sure we're not sitting ducks for an ambush._

 _If it gets too noisy in here they won't be able to hear us,_ the thought struck Sebastian. "Kylia, looking over these readings I think Rob might right. Can you get the plane idling so we can run another test?"

Twylla doesn't reply, but nods, making a 'no kidding!' face. She then holds up her fingers, crossed in the universal sign of 'let's hope for the best.'

She moves to the whiteboard to stand beside Sebastian. She quickly jots a reply.

 _No. If they are just listening, there is nothing to crack. The best we can do is try to find it, here. Use your equipment to home in on it._

Twylla waves to catch Rob and Ryan's attention. She then points to her message and looks at the two questioningly.

Sven read the notes passing around him. _Listening? Who's listening?_ Sven hadn't been paying attention at what everyone else had been doing, but as he looked around he was stricken with horror once he realized what was going on. _Oh Gods, what did I say? What have I done?_

Sven scribbled a frantic note, 'Don't turn it off or destroy it, find it then let's try to turn it to our advantage.' He took a deep breath, pulled in the roiling guilt in the pit of his stomach, and threw the beer on the hangar floor, careful not to actually hit anything that may not take kindly to a beer bath. "I was leaving anyways!" he yelled on his way out.

Twylla reads Sven's note and nods, giving him a thumbs up. Knowing that the device is there, the group can spin whatever tale they want to and, hopefully, keep things under control.

 _Be careful out there! Possible ambush. Maybe._ Twylla quickly scrawls on the board, making sure that Sven sees before he walks out the door.

 _What's the range on that kind of signal?_ Sebastian scribbled under Twylla's reply.

 _Going to get the plane on to drown out the noise of what we're doing. Ear plugs are by the front door. I'd also rather have her hot if we need to bug out._

Sven paused a beat after seeing Twylla's note. _Why does she even care about my safety after all of that?_ He stewed in his puddle of adrenaline, shame, and fear.

He went out and got in his car, but didn't turn it on. Finally alone, he let out a sob or two before controlling himself, punching the dashboard.

Taking this as her chance to slip out, Kenari motions with a hand gesture that she's following Sven and pulls up the hood of her jacket before creeping out into the shadows outside the hangar as Sven leaves.

 _No luck with a signal... as long as they're receiving and not transmitting, there's not much to work with. If they decide to change their minds, though, I'll be the first to let you know._

Kenari leaps and with a push off the HVAC unit and a few handholds thanks to the frame, she climbs and pulls herself onto the roof of the hangar where she lays low and keeps an eye on Sven as he leaves. _If anybody tries to follow us tonight I'll be damned if I don't pay them back in kind._ Seeing Sven's hesitation in his car, Kenari sighs and pulls out her burner phone to send him a text.

 _We are all afraid and doing the best we can. You are not alone. Remember that._

While the team was working, Sebastian pulled out his burner. _Sorry about the mess, drinks are on me when we have a moment. Stay safe and let us know if you run into any trouble_ he sent to Sven.

Sven read through the recent texts after he leashed his emotions. He texted back to all of them, "We need to regroup. Fall back to safehouse B later 2nite, not under my name so should be safe, will sweep beforehand. There's something I haven't told you all about. Keep cellphones home, park a few blocks away."

He set his teeth. _What's done is done, time for us to take control of this situation._ He started his car to get ready to go to his off-site office, taking the battery out of both his phones.

"Now that the asshole is gone," Sebastian spoke, while writing a note furiously. "Jessie you said you found some information to share?"

On the board, _Twylla, with this much secrecy the left hand might not know what the right is doing, can you make it sound like Sven might be in on the tracking as an undercover agent or something? Anything to help protect him?_

Sebastian nodded to Twylla as he finished.

Twylla nods and thinks furiously, trying to spin something. This is the first time she's ever had to do actual acting that other people could see through. Most of the time, all she has to do is fool the beeps and boops of computer programs...

"Yeah," Twylla presses her lips together and tries to tap into her earlier rage at Sven, anything to give her voice the edge it needs. "I know that we're being watched and I'm pretty sure that Sven is in on it. Why else would someone working with the government have any interest in us? Why would he care about a techie and a storm chasing crew?"

Twylla leaves Kenari out of it. Her brothers' names had been on the list, but not hers. Best to just glide over that...

"I don't know what the hell he was trying to do bursting in here, like that, though. That was insane! I mean, honestly?" she scoffs. "Was he trying to scare us into giving him information about...heck, I don't even know. Demanding truth and loyalty from us..."

Twylla gives Sebastian a worried look, not sure that she's doing well. Acting is not her forte!

Kylia shrugs. "Yeah. Okay. I'm not paying for the fuel."

She climbs into the cockpit and does a routine preflight, then calls out over an external speaker, "CLEAR!"

Rob makes sure everyone who isn't part of Stormwatch is outside the circle marked on the hangar floor, gives a thumbs-up to Kylia.

The plane's engine turns over, and the thrum of its idling engine is enough to give any unintentional listener fits.

Rob motions to Sebastian with a 'gimme a boost' gesture, indicating the top of the storage lockers ...

A thumbs up and a smile Twylla and then plane roars to life. _Don't break it yet_ Sebastian writes on the board and then moves over to give Rob a boost.

Rob peers over the tops of the row of storage lockers, then hops down. He nods and points to the lockers, indicating that there is some kind of listening device placed there.

 _Audio only_ he scribbled on the dry-erase board. _May not be the only one. What's next?_

* * *

(Sven)

You lock the car doors, of course. A deep exhalation helps you center, but the awareness that the group is under surveillance is still unsettling. Your anger still wants to latch onto it for justification.

Until you realize it's been going on for some time. You wonder if Christine has any political enemies who might have kept this as an ace-in-the-hole, dismiss it as too over-the-top. Despite Hollywood's best efforts, politics is gritty and down-to-earth, even at its most Machiavellian.

There's a tap on the driver's side window. A uniformed officer has his Streamlight to hand and is looking at you with a raised eyebrow. He makes a roll-down motion at you.

* * *

 _Hacking the cameras._

There's a long pause as minutes scroll by. You can gauge the difficulty of the task by Mouser's uncharacteristic silence - he's not one given to nervous chatter, but he also isn't this quiet unless a run is going sour.

 _In. Don't see anything yet. Let's see, gate ... taxiway ... fence line ... hangars ... yeah, there you are. Looks like Sven is getting checked out by security, nothing looks out of place ..._

There's a brief squeal of feedback in your earbud, and then you can hear what is transpiring in the hangar and wish your putative enemies luck. The feed is basically like trying to listen in on a whispered conversation at a dance club, and then ...

"Let me go! I didn't do anything!" someone protests.

"Shut the fuck up, gwailo."

There are footfalls, and then a quiet, "Oh, shit."

"You understand now, yes? Good," a more measured voice says. "Your ... intemperate behavior has drawn attention to things I do not wish to have in the spotlight."

"Look, okay, I'm out, I didn't know ..."

"It is too late for that."

There is a wet, punching-meat sound.

"See to it he is found on the docks, with the appropriate clues."

 _There. That should mess with their heads._

"What was that?"

 _A clip from last night's episode of Delta Blue._ _It'll be amusing to see if they waste time looking for another body. If not, I'll have to come up with something more ... fun._

Kenari chuckles and shakes her head as she takes out her burner phone to text Sebastian. _You might want to tell Security that Sven is OK. He was in car when they pulled up._

After a moment's thought she sends another text. _You DO have Security, right?_

 _I'll check it out,_ Sebastian replies to Kenari. _Security might just be being cautious after the break-in, but the way tonight's gone I don't trust it,_ he thought. He grabs a sports bag and sets _Arashi_ in it and heads towards the door.

"Gotta take a leak. Be back in a few," he shouts over the sound of the engine before jogging out the door to help Sven clear security.

* * *

 _For fuck's sake what now._

Sven rolled down the window, and let loose some of his agitation at the guard. "What? I was meeting with StormWatch in their hangar, I'm leaving now."

"Guard at the gate didn't recognize your plate, Sir. Not a problem. You'll want to have Mr. Vogel notify us if you're working with them," he says. "Drive safe."

Sven huffed and managed a "Thank you officer" before rolling his window back up, then started driving off the lot.

* * *

(Twylla)

Twylla glances at the phone, taking note of what is going on. She leaves Sebastian to check that out. After all, Kenari is out there and Twylla would only be in the way in a fight.

Instead, she scribbles on the board, _Going to get any ID info off the device. Can't hurt to have that . Gonna need a boost._

As she moves to the lockers, she considers what could be done with that information. Would it be possible to determine who might have bugged them by tracing back suppliers and point of sales? She doesn't know. But, better to have the information than not.

Twylla stands by the lockers, awaiting a helping hand.

Ryan and Rob look at Twylla's skirt, then at each other. There's a certain level of familiarity among friends - Kylia wouldn't blink an eye about stripping out of coveralls and down to a bra-and-panties, because she doesn't have any romantic interest in either of them. (Not to mention, she also wouldn't blink an eye about decking either of them with a right cross.)

Ryan puts his hands up as if to say, "You first." Rob gives an 'after you, Alphonse' kind of bow and kneels to offer Twylla the requested boost.

"You're not wearing spike heels, are you?" he asks with a wink.

It's not that Twylla is experienced in surveillance, but the knowledge is readily available to hats of all colors - black, white, and gray. The bug is a standard unit - a microphone, a transmitter, and a lithium battery, all crammed into a compact package. Nothing to spill the beans at a first look, but finding out what frequency the device is on would reveal who planted it.

But, this would also involve disabling the unit ... and tipping them off that their device had been found, unless it just happened to have been smashed by something weighty tossed atop the lockers ...

On any other day, Twylla may have given thought to the fact that she was in a skirt and being hoisted by a man. Today is not that day, though. Her mind is so occupied with everything that has happened and is currently still taking place that someone accidentally catching a glimpse of her panties is completely off the radar.

Even then, she would still laugh the incident off. After all, even if someone did get a glimpse up her skirt, they would still be seeing less of her than they would if she were wearing a bikini!

"Thanks!" Twylla says softly as Rob lets her down.

She walks over to the board and writes, _Standard unit. But, if I crack it open, I can probably decipher what frequency was used. So: "accidentally" smash it or continue ruse? Thoughts?_ Twylla looks to the others questioningly.

She holds up her burner and taps it, indicating to the others that she's going to contact the rest of the crew. Twylla quickly types up the same message to everyone else, along with the question: _Votes?_

* * *

Kenari reads the message from Twylla and thinks for a moment as she taps her phone against her bottom lip. She smiles as a thought comes to her and types her reply.

 _Accident. We can catch them if they try and replace it._

 _I think leaving it for a few days would make it less obvious. We're not going to be here as a group this weekend and we can smash it Monday when we clean the floors. We normally throw stuff we want to stay dry on the lockers anyway. Plus the team and I can do a more thorough sweep while we are prepping to wash._ Was Sebastian's reply.

Kenari pulls out her phone to read Sebastian's text and forms a reply.

 _Since this meeting is a wash I'm going to head to Plan B. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary when Sven left... so if we stagger when we leave and take different routes hopefully we'll be OK. Keep an eye out and be careful._

After she clicks SEND she slips the phone into her breast pocket and gives one last look around from her vantage point before making her way down from the roof.

 _I'll keep an eye on things until they leave. You be careful too, girl._

She grabs her helmet off the back of her seat with a sigh and puts it on as she straddles her motorcycle. With a kick of her foot the engine revs and she speeds away into the night.

* * *

Twylla checks her phone and quickly jots the tally up for the others to see.

 _So far, consensus is we leave the bug to be smashed on Monday when you guys clean the floor. Continue ruse, for now. Stagger leaving here, tonight. Haven't heard from Sven, yet, but I think this sounds like a good plan. Unless he comes back with argument against, I say we run with this._

Twylla considers text about whether the rest of the Stormwatch team will be coming to the next meeting or not. But, Sebastian was only going to be gone for a few minutes. She figures he can fill them in on details when he gets back, if he wants.

* * *

Sven took a circuitous route to the office. He halfway convinced himself he was shaking possible tails, but he didn't really know how to do that - and really just wanted some time to think.

 _Man, I was ready to literally_ shoot _somebody. A few years ago I never even touched a gun, and I still have only pulled it out at a gun range._

Christine had warned him that Tyr's blood running through his veins - what she called ichor - would make certain emotions run hot. Contrary to the stereotype of the dour Nord, he could feel his blood positively _singing_ with the drive to defend those in his care, to seek vengeance against his enemies.

He had been trying to keep from thinking too much about the recent ramping up of weird things in his life. After that first meal with Kenari and the rest of the group, he had dove deeper into his work. He had been telling himself that he was tying up loose ends to prepare for this change in priorities, but he ultimately knew he was really trying to run away from all the craziness.

Now he was acting out of borderline paranoia. First a murder-most-foul this morning, then it turns out someone had already found them out. _I still don't know what Kenari meant by "someone keeping a record of us." I need to find out what that was about._ His stomach did a flip, _and if "all of us" includes Christine. If they bugged Sebastian's hangar, they could easily be targeting her as well._

Sven decided on three things. One - he wasn't going to trust his work phone, but the burners shouldn't be compromised - why then would they bother bugging the hangar?

Two - he needed to focus the fury in the pit of his stomach towards this... Malevolent Force, not against his newfound cousins and their extended families. If that murder is related, which he had a strong feeling it was, then a political scandal about a council staffer going crazy and calling himself the son of a God from a dead religion wasn't quite the mortal threat he had been treating it as.

Three - he really needed to bring the rest of his... his cousins fully into his trust, and try to earn their trust in return - or earn it back.

Sven pulled over and fumbled with the burner to put the battery back in. _I can't isolate myself now. If I fail, or if they fall, we need to do it together._

Seeing the latest text exchange, he replied, "I vote keep it where it is, even long term. I'd rather feed false information then risk them escalating their strategy."

* * *

Seeing that Sven got away from the guard with no apparent trouble, Sebastian decided jog a few laps around the hanger to clear his head. He didn't regret telling the team. Honestly he should have done it sooner. He did regret the way things played out though. He needed to do something to make it up to everyone. Particularly Sven and Diana.

* * *

Seeing the last message from Sven, Twylla nods to herself and writes on the board, _Okay. Definitely leaving the bug in place, for now. We'll regroup and talk about smash vs. no smash later. I'm going to text Seb and then split. Thanks for all your help, guys! You're the best! 3_

Once she knows that the others have read her message and know the plan, she erases the whiteboard. As an afterthought, she sketches quick, chibi versions of Jessie, James and Meowth blasting off.

Pulling out the burner, she relays everything to Sebastian so that he's caught up, along with letting him know that she's headed out to the Plan B location. _Also, I didn't tell them about Plan B. I don't know what you want to do, if you want them there. They are involved, so they have every right to be included, imo. Leaving it up to you._

Gathering Roscoe, who has been waiting patiently while all this went down, Twylla heads out to her car and heads towards the second meeting location.

* * *

 _The Other Office_

If you were looking for a seat of power, a secret chamber wherein decisions of import were made, influence brokered, and enemies broken upon a political lathe, you probably wouldn't look twice at the tiny office with its windows taped over by months-old newspapers. There was no name, corporate or otherwise, to suggest this was The Place.

It was a strip mall that had seen better days. A Burger King, the smell of stale grease and 'char-broiled' burgers in the air. Homeless people who seemed to gravitate back and forth between the fast-food joint, a coin-op laundromat, and a bar that advertised a big screen TV to watch the weekend's games on.  
Still, the mall wasn't a complete dump. The Chinese restaurant on the other end of the block was somewhat cheerier and in better upkeep, and seemed to be doing brisk business ...

Kenari took a seat at the bar so she could get a view of the people meandering around the mall without looking out of place. She gave her best seductive smile to the bartender as she leaned forward to get his attention. "Blue Moon with a twist of orange if you've got it, deary."

The bartender can't help but smile back before he realizes she's asking him to do his job. With a sigh he replies as he grabs a glass and activates the tap, "Sorry lady, no can do with the fruit. Let me know when you want another drink, though." He flashes a crooked smile that has seen more than its share of back alley fights as he hands her the glass. "Name's Rudy."

"You're a sweetheart, Rudy," she drawls in reply as she runs a well-manicured finger down the side of his face and takes her beer with a smile. "I just want to enjoy my drink in peace... so would you be a dear and make sure nobody bothers me while I enjoy your company?"

Rudy smiles wide and nods. "You got it, ma'am. You just say my name if you need anything, now." He grabs some glasses to clean with his towel and rather obviously tries to show off the flexed muscles of his arms.

Kenari smiles. "I feel safer already, Rudy."

She then grabs her drink and turns around to scan her surroundings for anything odd or out of place as she takes a sip. "How hard is it to find out who owns that office?" she whispers to her guide. "If you can do it easily... so can whoever is tracking us."

Sven parked a few blocks from the strip mall his office was in, on a residential block. Despite his very humble car, he hid his work phone under the driver chair just in case. He was pretty sure he was suffering full-blown paranoia at this point, but until he was up to date on who their stalkers were, he took every precaution he could drum up.

He reached the office with no difficulty and went in. The place was an absolute mess. 3 years' worth of machinations sat in unlabeled file boxes, various projects were displayed with photos and paper clippings on the wall with strings connecting them. He hadn't cleared out his more sensitive materials yet, but at this point he had no more secrets to hide. He started trying to make the place as comfortable as he could for 4 people to sit in - cleared the blanket off the small raggedy couch, set some of the boxes in chair-like positions, and started picking up random detritus. He also took a good, hard look to make sure no one had tampered with anything - it may be a mess, but it was _his_ mess, and knew where everything was and how he had left it.

As she drives towards the strip mall, Twylla has a personal revelation. She's not subtle. Nope. Not in the least. _Yeah, no one is going to notice the blue-haired lady walking the Mega Dog. See that every day..._ Changing course, she starts heading home. It shouldn't take too long to pop in, put on a hat, and drop off Roscoe.

It is, at this point, that her stomach rumbles, empty and quite angry at this state of being. She had been so intent on coding after hacking _Socialize!_ that she hadn't thought to have dinner before heading to the hangar. _...And swing by the sub shop. I need food, and I promised Roscoe some roast beef. Maybe that will make up for the fact that I'm dumping him at home._

Once home, Twylla digs around in her closet until she turns up an old, battered baseball cap that she had gotten during a date ages ago. She also changes to jeans, a T-shirt and a hoodie. She'd look silly in her regular clothes with the cap. Plus, she's not sure that she can actually stuff all of her hair under the cap. The hoodie should help hide it.

Roscoe was delighted to have a whole, roast beef sub all to himself. He was not so delighted as Twylla tried to leave him behind. When she tried to slip out of the apartment, he pushed past her and stood on the front stoop, waiting. Twylla went back in and Roscoe followed. Again, she tried to slip out but the mastiff muscled past her and back outside. For a good five minutes, the two of them do a crazy in-out door dance until, finally, Twylla throws up her hands in frustration.

"Fine. You can come! Just try to be..." she waves at him,. encompassing his vast canine being "...inconspicuous."

Somehow, Roscoe managed to look smug as he settled into the back of the Camino.

Before setting out to the strip mall, Twylla shuts down her phone and takes the battery out. She knows that Sven asked them to leave them behind but, honestly, there's no way for anyone to track a dead phone. As long as it has no power and isn't connected to anything, it's just a chunk of metal and plastic. She pops the phone and battery into her purse, puts on the baseball cap, and munches on her own sub as she drives.

Sebastian left his apartment in running clothes and started jogging towards the meeting place. He usually went for a run most nights so if his place was being watched this would be par for the course. It was a good run and let him sort out his feelings along the way. The team hadn't been happy that he was going alone tonight, but he had promised to update them at bar night tomorrow. This had satisfied most of the team, but Diana was still upset. The action of investigating the bug had broken through Ryan's reluctance and now he was excited about the possibilities. "Maybe they are aliens, like the Asgardians in the new Marvel movies," he had suggested as they walked out the hanger. Sebastian had agreed, but he wasn't really sold on that.

It was about 8 miles from his apartment to Sven's hidey hole by the route he had planned, so he left about an prior to the appointed time and put in a good pace. He also tried to keep a watch out for anyone tailing him.

There are no mysterious panel vans, no sedans driving with their headlights off, no unfamiliar neighbors out for an evening stroll. A man in well-worn Army jacket is sitting on the bench at the bus stop, enjoying a thin cigarillo and perhaps a flask of rum tucked in a pocket, but this particular route is a commuter run ... and over for the night.

* * *

 _It's not that easy. Shell corporation, fake board of directors. Faces are all stock photos. But, someone's gotta answer the phones, yeah?_

A pause as an auto-dialer pulses out a number. _Voice-response system. Too bad I know the admin codes._ You hear a pair of off-key chords, followed by more single keypresses as Mouser navigates through the system. _There. Anyone tampers with this puppy, I'll know. Decent job of hiding the trail for an amateur._

"Thanks... I want to make sure the same thing doesn't happen to this place too," Kenari mutters into her drink as she finishes it off and leaves a fiver on the bar. "Thanks again, Rudy, you're a doll," she calls out before she casually saunters across the way and leans against the door of the office, the heel of her boot tapping against the door as she pulls out a cigarette and searches for her lighter.

* * *

There's a purpose to Sven's chaos, so to speak, with a few tell-tales hidden among the junk. All of them are undisturbed. The tangle of threads is an incomplete picture of the nuances of New Orleans politics. There's the City Hall crowd, of course, with the usual parade of prominent citizens and business owners ... and then there's the organized crime presence, not at all surprising for a major convention city.

None of the others have shown up yet. Despite your challenging Sebastian's Stormwatch crew, you don't entirely feel like you've put your foot in it. It's more like the elusive clarity of a slug of absinthe, or, as Edgar Allan Poe put it, "... a class of fancies, of exquisite delicacy, which are not thoughts, and to which, as yet, I have found it absolutely impossible to adapt language."

* * *

"Hey, Sarge!" a young African-American man calls out to the man on the bench, who waves at him. The young man is dressed in a dark grey hoodie, with a small gymsack slung across his back. He is carrying a bag from a nearby sandwich shop.

"What's for dinner?" asks the man.

"Pastrami," the young man says, doling out a sandwich. "Got some Fritos and your choice - ginger ale, or a Coke."

"Ginger ale, please."

Sebastian waved to the two strangers with a smile as he ran past. The jog had been particularly easy tonight, he wasn't even a little winded. Maybe another side effect of his parentage? After rounding a corner, he decided to push for a bit more speed than usual and see how he felt.

* * *

Twylla finally gets close to the office. She finds a place to park the Camino a block or two away from the strip mall and pulls into place. She takes a moment to make sure that her hair is tucked away before getting out and locking up. Not that she's all that concerned about her car being stolen. Even she is pretty certain that no one is going to look at this thing and think, _Oh, yeah. Jackpot._ If somebody steals it, they obviously need a car far more badly than she does!

Roscoe jumps out of the back and takes up a position by her side as Twylla begins to make her way towards the office. He is a model walking partner, staying beside her and paying no attention to cars or cats or other people. Though, the people take notice of him! Once or twice, strangers stop her to ask about Roscoe and pat him. Roscoe, of course, soaks up the attention with all the love and gusto of any other dog.

Once satisfied that it was as domestic as it was going to get, Sven positioned the one luxury item in the office - his desk chair - in a "position of power," facing it towards the door so he could strike a brooding-esque pose. After a few minutes though, he really had to _pee._

He finally figured squirming wasn't very cool, so he got up to head to the Burger King. But just as he was about to open the door, there was a rap on it, from below somehow. _Of course._

Opening it, he saw Kenari, smoking a cigarette. "Hey Kenari. Ummm I was about to step out to the bathroom, you're welcome to wait but I'd rather if you didn't smoke in there. Or smoke cigarettes anyways." A sheepish grin took hold as he was once again caught off guard.

"Afraid I save that for rituals," Kenari laughs as she exhales a puff of smoke. She then licks a finger and puts out her cigarette before putting it back in her pack and in her jacket pocket. "I'll hold down the fort for you, hon... you can trust me." She winks as she walks past Sven and sprawls out on his couch.

* * *

There's a black-and-white patrol car parked in front of the Burger King, which makes you hang back for a moment. A couple of officers are visible from the window, just sitting down with their trays. There's probably a negligible risk that they would recognize you, but your rule-of-thumb is 'low profile.'

 _Until I know what's going on, I think I'm going to err on my paranoia._

Sven checked his watch - Happy Wok should still be open. He went the long way around and entered the Chinese restaurant.

"Ah, yes sir!" Sven didn't know the man's name but they've spent a lot of time talking about the neighborhood. He and his wife ran the restaurant, his two daughters worked part time while going to school, and his oldest son was off at Tulane.

"Hi yes, hey could I use your restroom? Burger King's is out. Also, let me get like 2 dozen crab rangoons? Aaand one of those jugs of lemonade."

"Sure sure okay. Here this way," and he ushered him to a little backroom toilet.

A few minutes later he headed back to the office bearing late night snacks.

* * *

Kenari arched her back with a yawn as she stretched on the couch. "Well, a girl has to keep herself busy," she mutters to herself as her curiosity gets the better of her and she takes a closer look at the photos pinned to the wall with various strings attached to them.

She giggles as she recognizes more than one photo of people who have walked through her door. "Oh this guy was rich," she says as she taps a photo of an elderly gentleman with a rather dour look being escorted by men in suits and sunglasses.

 _Was that the one with the "toy" closet?_

She snickers. "No... though that was a good one. I still try not to laugh whenever I hear a squeak toy. This guy..." she taps the photo again. "This guy was so worried about his name living on that he didn't realize that his sons wanted everything to live on but _him."_

 _People only believe the parts they want to hear, unfortunately._

"Tell me about it," she replies in disgust as she scans an article about the latest religious protest rallies turning to violence at the Gay Pride Parade.

Twylla makes her way to the strip mall unmolested. Of course, that's not surprising. Anyone would have to be a teensy bit bonkers to try anything weird with Roscoe by her side. Though she was grateful for the sense of security he imparted, she was still worried about how much he stood out.

 _Granted, I'm not the only person in New Orleans with a mastiff, I'm sure. But, I'm also betting that there aren't a ton of us, either,_ she thinks to herself.

Soon, the office comes into view. Not having Kenari's street saavy, she just walks up to the door and knocks because...what else is she supposed to do? With the state of mind that Sven was in earlier, she doesn't trust him not to accidentally put a bullet in her head should she waltz in like she belonged there.

Kenari turns to the door with a raised eyebrow and a twitch to her lips. "Well well... seems we have company. I doubt Sven would knock on his own door."

 _Careful..._

She saunters over to the door, dodging file cabinets and stacks of newspaper articles piled on the ground. With one hand ready to grab the dagger out of scabbard hidden in the back of her pants she places herself against the wall and reaches over to knock in reply as she whispers "Shave and a haircut..."

 _KNOCK-knock-tap-KNOCK-knock..._

Sebastian turned down the street to see Twylla and Roscoe walking up to the front of the strip mall. _Don't want to be too obvious,_ he thought and decided to do another loop around the block keeping an eye out for anything odd.

Twylla tilts her head to the side, wondering exactly how she's supposed to respond to that. Any old Tom, Dick or Harry could respond with the appropriate follow-tap to _Shave and a Haircut._ It's not like that tune isn't well known. Plus, no one said anything about a passcode!

So...if she taps the tune correctly, does that mean she gets let in or does it mean that Sven expects _enemies_ to respond as if they know the code and she'll get shot?

'Oh, for Pete's sake..." she whispers in exasperation.

Rather than risk it, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a business card. Flipping it over, she writes, "It's me! Twylla" on the back and slips it under the door.

Sven turned the corner and saw Twylla crouched in front of the office door with Roscoe nearby. "Hey Twylla, thanks for coming. Want some rangoons?"

She jumped what felt like several feet in the air, before turning and looking at him, face white as a sheet.

"Sorry! Sorry." Sven tried to look as placating as he could with a big bag of Chinese food in one hand.

"Oh! Oh..." Twylla's hand flies up to her heart, resting there for a moment as she recovers from being startled. Then, she glances at the door in panic, stepping to the side as she reaches out to catch Sven's arm and pull him along.

"There's someone in there! Is it one of us?" she asks quickly, not knowing if there is reason to be worried or not.

Kenari sighs and rolls her eyes as she picks up the card and opens the door. "And here I was under the impression you had a sense of humor," she pouts before slipping the card into her back pocket and walking back to claim her spot on the couch.

 _Great, I've infected her with my paranoia._

Sven took a deep breath, and tried his best to radiate calm. "Well. So far the only danger tonight has been myself. We should be safe here, let's get comfortable and wait for Sebastian?"

Sven ushered Twylla into the office.

"I honestly don't have much of a clue as to what security protocols are worth following. I've always lived on the 'if I can think of it so can they' principle, but I tend to outsource most of the actual work," he waved his hand at a whiteboard with what looked like internet handles listed out, red twine connecting them into the spidery network of connections on the wall. Names like 'Pyrobob451, MAdHattr, Paprika, Woodstock...'

"Honestly about 99% of my precautions have been a waste of time, it's not like I'm embroiled in DC politics or fighting SPECTRE, the most I've ever really faced is some thugs following me once or twice. But I figure it only takes one slip to get screwed so... paranoia it is. Might be a good first point of order to discuss what is actually _effective,_ after we all get caught up on what we've found so far that is."

Heaving a sigh of relief, Twylla walks into the office, "I swear, if some mysterious enemy doesn't kill me, one of you is going to give me a heart attack, instead. I'll wind up in the afterlife and Anubis will just laaaaugh and laugh. There will probably be some pointing and giggling involved, as well."

She finds a seat and settles down with an embarrassed grin, Roscoe taking his place by her side.

"Considering someone is dead, I'd say there's nothing wrong with paranoia," Kenari replies with a slight frown before turning to Twylla with a smile. "My apologies... just trying to find some humor in what's turning into a _very_ unfunny situation."

Twylla waves the apology off with a smile, "It's okay. I'm just still tense and feeling way out of my depth, right now. Any other day of the week, I probably would've tapped out some M.C. Hammer in response or something."

Standing, she moves to look at the board Sven indicated. Her eyes rove over the names, and she mentally takes note of the internet handles...until she spots Paprika. Her eyebrows raise in surprise. Keeping her back turned to Sven, she silently flips through all the jobs she has done, trying to decide who Sven might be. After all, her clients are just as cautious as she is, in this regard, and would not use their real names. Obviously, it would've been something connected to politics but...she does a lot of those jobs. Hard to say...

Feigning mild curiosity, she taps the place on the boards with the handles and asks, "Who are these people?"

Sven glanced back up after laying out the rangoons on a desk and breaking out some plastic cups for the lemonade. Roscoe was taking up most of the remaining floor space, effectively pinning him to his desk chair. He glanced up at what she pointed at, chewing on a rangoon.

"Various folks I've went to for outside work. Some consulted on security stuff, like helping me set up Tor and email anonymizers. Others helped me in my, umm, more _nefarious_ purposes, from digging up dirt on Christine's political opponents to hacking an email account or two. None of them know who I am though, at least as far as I could tell. I figure you're our resident hacker for our little club here, but some of these are good resources if we need outside help."

* * *

A low whistle comes over Kenar's earbud.

 _Damn. I mean, damn. This is almost too hot for my tastes._

"What is it?" you ask quietly.

 _So much for 'curiosity killed the cat.' I'm looking at a database of people like you. Not cat burglars, mind ... a database of Scions. Nationwide. And this is the feds, their fingerprints are all over it. Shit, some of this data is medical, which means they dug really deep. I don't know many cat burglars who advertise on social media._

Kenari curses quietly as she feigns boredom and acts like she's checking her nails. "Let me know what they have on me."

She gets up and walks over to the desk to grab a crab rangoon from the improvised table and clears off a space before sitting on the corner. "If I'm not mistaken, you called us for this meeting, Twylla. Was there something important you wanted to share with us?"

Twylla continues looking at the board, but glances over her shoulder as Kenari speaks, "Oh, yeah. But, it's already been said. It just sort of got lost in all the...hoo-haa. You know, the whole 'we're being watched and they have info on us' thing. I figure we can talk about it when Sebastian gets here."

 _Nothing,_ Mouser tells you. _Which means my little tapeworm is happily munching on your digital footprint. Hard to do the work of the goddess when the heat is looking over your shoulder._

* * *

Sven half-raised his hand, "For the record, I still don't know what you all are referring to. All I know is some woman died on the beach this morning, her heart fucking cut out. I didn't catch what prompted looking for that bug in the hangar, and I don't know anything about this record of us that keeps being referred to."

He wasn't being impatient per se, but until he had some grounding for whom to be paranoid _about,_ then his mind would just keep running the hamster wheel, fighting imaginary threats.

As if on cue, Sebastian walked through the door, a slight sheen of sweat on his skin, but no other sign that he had just run eight miles to get here. "Sorry I'm late."

Twylla grins to herself as she remembers the incident that little, red string links to Paprika on the board.

 _Oh, yeah. That guy was a piece of work. He had the bogus investment deal for those retirement homes he owned. Cooking the books so that the money was funneled into his own corporation rather than going back to the retirees' families after their deaths like it was supposed to. Glad to have seen the back end of that slimeball..._

"Oh, sorry," Twylla turns back around and shuffles over to take a seat, avoiding stepping on Roscoe's tail. "I suppose we can catch Sebastian up when he gets here."

And, just as she says that, the door opens to admit Sebastian. She smiles and waves him in, saying, "Right on time! I was just getting ready to explain to everyone why I asked us to meet."

"So, this morning I was supposed to be running some tests over at _Socialize!_ when my appointment is cancelled. They tell me Ms. Martinez has the flu. A little while later, I get a call from Scott over at Delta dishing me the truth - Martinez has gone missing and the Feds are being called in to look for her. It's not long after that that I get the call about the body. So, I start connecting the dots and decide it's time to take a look at _Socialize!'s_ files," Twylla says.

"Now, I'm not too surprised that the Feds were called in on this case. Martinez's fiancee, Mr. Petrelli, is the son of a man who used to work for some federal agency. I figured the father called in the Feds as a favor since it's his future daughter-in-law that has gone missing. Knowing this, I decided I needed to work fast. I hit the network this afternoon."

"But, here's the thing - when I got into _Socialize!_ , the Feds were already there. They have some serious black ice level security laid down in that network. I didn't have a whole lot of time to poke around. I grabbed anything that looked potentially interesting, pulled it down, and left then pinging around in the Idaho utilities network." She shrugs and adds, "I still had two minutes to work, but...I didn't want to risk them pinpointing where I am, this early."

"What I pulled out were some financials that I haven't had a chance to really look through, yet, and a file that was marked "scions." It has evidence that we're being watch. Names, addresses, percentages pertaining to likelihood of being a scion...all kinds of stuff," she shakes her head.

Looking to Kenari, she says, "You're not on the list, but your family is. However, they are all marked as 'negative' for being scions, so...I don't know how closely they are watching them, right now."

"Also, all of the Stormwatch team is on the list," she looks to Sebastian.

* * *

Kenari makes a kiss noise and whispers "You're the best," before standing up and turning to Sebastian with a smile.

 _As if the Goddess would pick anybody less..._

"On the contrary, you're right on time, Sebastian... because it looks like we've all got something to share." she gestures for him to take a seat and join them as she paces for a moment and decides how to start.

"Last night while out and about I came across a sweet little cat with quite a big problem. It turns out its owner, one _Catherine Martinez,_ had gone missing three days ago. After I fed the poor thing I decided to do some... _investigating_ of my own. Since I'm not the computer genius like you, Twylla," she gestures to the blue haired girl with a slight bow, "I went to the Socialize office personally to see what I could find out."

She laughs. "Turns out there aren't a lot of people to talk to other than security at two in the morning and it seemed a shame to bother them... so I let myself in." She grabs another rangoon and sits back down on the desk. "I didn't want to overstay my welcome, however, so I _borrowed_ two hard drives as a parting gift."

"Wait... you did what now?" asks Sebastian as he grabs a lemonade.

"Well that's _one_ way to do it," Twylla chuckles as she shakes her head.

"When my friend finished going over them, I discovered what you did, Twylla. The database that these people have been gathering about Scions is _extensive._ I'm talking about a national federal database of us with family histories, medical records, you name it."

She munches on the rangoon for a moment as she thinks. "I'm guessing that after Las Vegas, somebody high up in the government got _very_ interested in the stories that were circulating about what happened, and they've been keeping it hush-hush by using Socialize as a front."

She frowns and gestures towards Sven with her rangoon. "What I can't figure is why she ended up dead. Was she killed by an angry scion who found out they're on the list? Or maybe someone who _wanted_ the list for themselves? Or hell... maybe _she_ was on the list." she sighs. "Until we can figure out that, we _all_ need to be extra careful."

 _And I need to get word to my family..._

"Hey Sebastian, sorry for the cramped quarters."

Sven turned to the others, "Well, can we look and see if Miss Martinez is on this list? Also..." he got quiet, "Also, could we check if Christine Porter is on the list?"

 _Las Vegas? What happened in Vegas?_ He thought to himself, but figured there were enough balls in the air for now.

"Sure can!" Twylla says as she reaches over to grab her ever present laptop. Popping the thumb drive back in, she pulls up the list and searches for Ms. Martinez's and Christine Porter's names.

"Sharing is caring," Kenari mutters as she pours herself a lemonade.

 _(sigh) I'll see what I can do..._

* * *

Catherine Martinez' name pops up almost immediately with Twylla's search. Her file is appropriately marked with the requisite gold star or Hello Kitty sticker or whatever b.s. excuse the federales use to identify a friendly asset.

There is also a file on Christine Porter, but it's inconclusive, with sub-headings on various staff members (including Sven), and a memo from on high reminding Project Argus staffers not to get all tin-foil hat on the subject.

* * *

Las Vegas? Why wouldn't Christine mention something significant happening on the Scion front? Two answers come to mind, the first being that she doesn't know about it, and the second being that she's obligated/bound not to talk about it.

Which means Tyr could be involved. And/or Odin. And the rest of the Aesir.

* * *

Kenari leans over the back of the couch as she watches Twylla work. "By any chance do you have a program set up for..." she gestures with her hands as she tries to think of the right words.

 _Anonymous P2P file sharing..._

"...anonymous P2P file sharing?" Kenari asks. "That way my friend can share with you what he found on the hard drives and vice versa."

She places a finger against her cheek as she rests her chin on her hand. "I wonder... if she went missing 3 days ago, maybe we'd be able to find clues as to what was going on with her before the end. You know... social sites, friends and family, web history, that kind of thing."

"Yeah," Twylla says, chewing on her bottom lip as she looks down the list. "Yup. There's Martinez. She's marked as a friendly asset. And, Porter is in there, too, but is marked as inconclusive. You're in here, too, Sven, along with some other staff."

"Hmmm...and there's something called 'The Argus Group' mentioned. Anybody familiar with that?" Even as she asks, Twylla is already pulling up the internet to do some searches...but not before she turns on some software to hide her own activities.

"Huh?" Twylla turns her head to look at Kenari. "Oh! Yeah, absolutely. Do you know if he would prefer to use opennet or darknet? Both have their advantages and I can use either."

"Project Argus?" Kenari asks so the right ears can hear. "No... haven't come across it, myself."

 _Somebody likes their Greek mythology... great name for a project aimed to spy on Scions if that's the case. Let me start digging._

"What happened in Vegas? Sounds like it didn't stay there." Sebastian mused while the group scanned the files. "Also are any of the other _families_ known for removing people's hearts? And are there any suspected members of those families nearby?"

"Sounds Aztec, to me," Twylla says after thinking for a minute. "They were big on the whole human sacrifice and removing of hearts...let me see how specific this database is. Anybody know any good search terms for those gods other than 'Aztec?' Like, Greek gods may be known as 'Olympian.' What else would these guys be called?"

She starts doing some searches, looking for 'Aztec.' If that turns up nothing, she'll do an internet search to see if there are other terms that could be used.

Well...after she finishes searching for Argus Group, of course. Twylla shakes her head at herself. _Slow down, there, hoss. Can only do one thing at a time._

"I know that us Nordic folk are called the Aesir, but I haven't really done much research on the other pantheons or whatever."

Sven thought a moment. "After tonight's performance, assuming our invisible audience earlier is the same group, I'm guessing I'm going to have a big ole check mark next to my name." Sven shifted a bit and decided to just get his last secret off his chest.

"At this point too, I want to let you folks know something. Christine isn't just my boss, she's my half-sister, on my Dad's side." He let that sink in a moment.

"I'm able to link up with her thanks to this stylish piercing of mine. I worked with her long before I found out about my heritage, but evidently she was vetting me. The day after my Dad showed up, she started training me for... for whatever may come."

Sebastian nodded, "We'll do what we can to protect her as well. For what it's worth we tried to make a show of you not being part of our group after you left even calling into question whether what you said was even true." He shrugged, "I don't know that it will work, but it was worth a shot."

"Based on what we've found so far though, it doesn't look like the feds were behind the murder since they considered Martinez an asset. That means someone else might know about this list."

Sebastian paced as much as he could in the small room, "I wonder if we should try and lure out whoever is listening in. If it's feds we might be able to help each other. If it's whoever is behind the murder then we can eliminate the threat."

That elicited some worried glances from the group. "If we do this I would be the bait. I suspect I have the most experience in surviving life or death situations and I have some martial arts training. Besides I need to do something to make up for the trouble I caused."

"Try searching South American religions, maybe?" Kenari asks. "There's a lot more than just Aztecs. There's the Incans and the Mayans too, as well as I'm sure others the Discovery channel knows about."

 _Kali-Ma..._ the voice in her ear intones in their attempt at a deep guttural voice.

Kenari chokes down a laugh as grabs a cup of lemonade. "Rangoon went down the wrong pipe."

 _Got you..._

After she clears her throat she turns to Sven. "I'm not sure... but _something_ happened there... I could _feel_ it. Father won't tell me much, but I woke up in the middle of the night with my nose bleeding screaming about how the city broke the world." She shudders and rubs her arms. "Apparently that didn't happen."

"I don't know about the rest of you, but since I've managed to stay off that list I have no desire to give the Feds reason to put me back on it," Kenari replies after considering Sebastian's offer. "If it _is_ one of us that's killing people involved with this list, the feds are going to think all that surveillance is justified, if they don't just arrest us outright for _being_ scions in the first place."

"What if... assuming the bug belongs to the Feds...we leave the bug in your hangar where it is, in case we need to feed them information after we've found something? I don't want to deal with the Feds unless we've got a strong position to bargain from."

 _I knew there was a reason I liked you..._

Twylla gives Sven a sympathetic smile, her feelings towards him softening. _He has family to watch out for, too..._ Her own growing relationship with Kenari, who is also her half-sister, giving her the perspective to understand why he spaz-panicked so hard. Plus, if she helped him drag a corrupt politician out into the light, well...maybe Sven _is_ one of the good ones.

"Don't worry," she says. "We'll all do everything we can to make sure everyone's families are safe."

"Buuut," she continues, after hearing both Sebastian and Kenari's ideas, "...we don't know for certain that it is the Feds who bugged the hangar. It seems like the most probable answer, considering this database exists. But, things like this...well...they don't always stay hidden. There's always a market for this kind of information. Before we decide what to do about it, let me do some digging and find out if this list has turned up for sale, anywhere."

"Plus, keep in mind that I can find out the frequency used in the bug if I break it. We can confirm if it was the Feds, that way. But, we lose the ability to feed them info..." she trails off, thinking. "But only there! Surely, there are more bugs that we simply haven't found. Maybe the Stormwatch team can do a sweep of homes and workplaces? I know I can easily bring Rob and Ryan into Delta under some techie excuse..."

Sebastian put his hands up, "I'm not saying we do this _right now_ , but it is something we should consider. And I'm not saying we reveal our whole hand either. Just me. I'm a fairly public figure so they can't just disappear me without people noticing. I also have some good escape tricks in mind... like being able to breathe under water and fly.

"Let's just do some digging first and see if we can find some more information before anybody starts thinking about thrilling heroics OK?" Kenari replies with a placating hand gesture as she sits beside Twylla on the couch. "I'm in no hurry to see you put yourself in danger if you don't need to be, Sebastian."

"So Twylla... what do you use for anonymous file transfers? I can get you the information on those hard drives so we can compare what you've got in case there are any holes. And Sven, you said that Catherine had ended up murdered. How'd you find out? Is there anything else you can share that might give us a lead?"

"Well, I drew that purely from Twylla's text assuming that the dead body was hers. I passed that on to the NOPD detective that was there but they hadn't confirmed anything yet. In fact, hang on." He pulled up his laptop and googled Miss Martinez to see if her face matched the corpse he saw earlier.

"I have several that I use, depending on the situation," Twylla says. She then lists off three different programs and proceeds to tell Kenari the advantages and disadvantages of each. "I'm sure your guy knows about them, already, though. Just let me know what he prefers and we can use that."

* * *

The corporate photo of Catherine Martinez matches the appearance of the deceased, particularly a necklace she is wearing in the photo. It's not a unique or particularly expensive item, so robbery wasn't the motive.

* * *

Both of you are aware that transferring terabytes of data - especially in a manner that won't draw undue attention from law enforcement and/or snoopy telecoms - won't be a moment's work.

 _Um, yeah. Might be safer to make a copy or two, give one to T, and keep one around as blackmail/insurance._

Kenari repeats the programs Twylla mentions as if to make sure she's got the names right.

 _... that'll work. Let me set things up and I'll start the transfer. Tell her to look for Fafhrd._

"OK got it. When the transfer happens, the name will be Fafhrd," Kenari replies with a wink. "Then we can get two big brains looking through the list."

She leans over and refills her cup of lemonade. "So... I find that Catherine Martinez has gone missing. Twylla finds her files because she had a job with her. Sven is there when they discover her dead body." She takes a sip as she thinks for a moment, and then looks over to Sebastian. "That just leaves you then, Sebastian. Has anything happened to you lately that can be tied back to Catherine Martinez?"

Twylla nods, "I'll be Ene. Tell him not to start anything until I'm home. I can call you to let you know when I'm ready, and you can pass it along. I don't want anything sitting out there. In and out, done. I want to leave as small a footprint as possible, so that means being as quick as possible."

"I'll also put a copy of what I have on a thumb drive, for you, Kenari. Keep it hidden, somewhere, just in case. I can remember anything I read but...if knowledge of my ability gets out...I'll be the first person the enemy will try to whack, most likely. Knowing is half the battle. Go, Joe!" She makes a 'wheee' face and chuckles ruefully.

"I was actually already at the crime scene when Sven showed up. We were heading to the beach to get some footage for a TWC special when we ran into the blockade." Sebastian explained. "I convinced the troopers to let us use our equipment to help. I found the knife under the waves and the team found some horse droppings nearby which suggest her body was brought there by horseback. So yeah, I'd say I'm connected now."

Twylla thinks for a second, then asks, "Can you describe the knife? Was there anything unusual about it?"

"I can do one better," Sebastian said as he pulled a small ziploc bag out of his pocket and tossed it to Twylla. Inside was a small thumb drive. "That has all the footage we got including some really good shots of the knife."

"Well that's old school to say the least," Kenari replies. She bites her bottom lip in thought as she thinks of all the things she has to consider when preparing to raid a target. "I wonder if the police have any leads yet about the case? I mean horses leave hoof prints, right? If the horse didn't come from near by, then he must've been brought there in a trailer... and if he was brought to the beach in a trailer, he should show up on traffic cameras or something... right?"

The knife appears to be of a classic design rather than contemporary - a bronze blade with a bone handle and a darkish stone set in the pommel. It doesn't take specialized knowledge to recognize it as Egyptian in design.

Twylla quickly copies the data over from Sebastian's thumb drive onto her own. Best to have copies so that if one is lost, there are back-ups.

"Do you see anything about this that might tie it to one of our pantheon?" Twylla asks Kenari as she gazes thoughtfully at the footage playing on her laptop. Though she has been learning much during the time spent with her half-sister's family, Kenari's knowledge of Egyptian religion and culture still surpasses her own.

Sven broke out a little USB projector and aimed it at the back of the door, the only clear white space in the room, and plugged his burner in to project the pictures Sebastian had texted them earlier.

"We should be careful to not jump too far ahead of our evidence. We don't know that this is a scion-on-scion crime yet. Sure, horses and heart-culling knives sure _sounds_ mystical, but for every one of us there's probably dozens of cults, loonies, or even organized crime that would put on a show like that."

"Well _that's_ worrisome..." Kenari mutters as she looks over Twylla's shoulder to see the pictures of the knife. "I was expecting Mayan... not Egyptian."

She sits back on the couch and hums in thought as she runs a hand through her hair. "Egyptian rituals involving the heart... first thing that comes to mind is when the soul comes to the gods for judgement. The heart is placed on the scales by Anubis and weighed against the Feather of Maat. If the heart is unbalanced, it is consumed by Ammit, the Eater of the Dead."

Her lip curls in disgust. "Do you think... I mean... could someone _be_ a scion of Ammit? Ugh... how would they even..." she shudders and holds out a blocking hand. "You know what, I don't even want to know."

She looks to Sven. "There's always the possibility that someone is _setting up_ scions because they know we're being watched by the FBI. I'd almost prefer that, honestly. Regular monsters I've had experience with."

Sebastian shook his head, "This is all Greek to me, or Egyptian I suppose. What does that mean. And what did you mean about something happening in Vegas?"

On a whim, Sven googled for recent news of any other ritualistic-looking murders in the past few years, especially unsolved ones, broadening to look beyond just the NOLA area.

"As far as where the police are, they're probably going to be a lot slower than us. My office and I are trying to cozy up to the Detective on the scene - Detective Spinelli - for political reasons, I'll try to wheedle information from her if the opportunity arises."

Kenari sighs. "I don't know anything more than what I said, Sebastian. The Gods did something in Vegas that changed things... and for better or worse, more people know about the existence of scions than they did before because of it."

While there's no shortage of unsolved murders across the the country, only a handful appear to be ritual or serial in nature, and none share the 'signature' of cutting someone's heart out with an ancient dagger.

"Looks like it's not a serial killer spree or anything... So, let's take stock: this lady is a scion who is in league with 'the Feds' who was helping them compile a list of scions, or vice versa. She ends up with her heart cut out, and her database was locked up tight before that was public knowledge. And since the FBI wasn't on that scene before the troopers, I think it's safe enough to assume they weren't necessarily aware of her murder. Which stands to my reasoning that that 'government ice' was in place already, right?

"Are we _sure_ it's the FBI she was working with? And was she married or anything? Might be worth digging into who she was as a person, scion or not."

"She was engaged to Trey Petrelli. As far as I know, he's the one that called in the FBI. His father used to work for the government in some agency. I don't know which one, though," Twylla answers.

"Maybe his father was involved with that Project Argus," Kenari theorizes.

"If this killer was influenced by the gods of Egypt, then I hate to say it... but I should talk to my brothers and see if they've seen anything or anyone weird around the shop lately. I don't want to get them involved... but it's not like there are a lot of Egyptian temples in New Orleans, you know?

Sven leaned back, staring at the ceiling pensively as he tried to put all the dots together. "Any other intel to throw in this pot? If not, maybe we should set ourselves to action. Oh, and speaking of which," he motioned towards the sofa, "Under the sofa are the bugout bags I made for us. Each has standard Boy Scout equipment, a grand in small bills, some spy stuff like hair dye and gloves to keep fingerprints clean, and of course a towel. I don't think we should make it a habit to meet here," he glanced down at poor Roscoe, who has been valiantly keeping anyone from stepping on him throughout the ordeal, "but it's about as fall-back as we have for now for emergencies."

"What do you guys need me to do?" Sebastian asked pensively, "My skill set isn't super useful for an investigation."

"Maybe you could start looking for places nearby that have horses? You're a weather guy! You have an excuse to be pretty much anywhere out in the open. And, whatever farm or stable it came from would have to be close by," Twylla suggests.

"Not to mention you're practically a celebrity... that's got to be good for getting through doors to talk to people, right?" Kenari adds with a hopeful smile.

"I can do both of those, just tell me what doors need opening." Sebastian nodded. "Also if anyone wants some self-defense lessons I can talk to Kylia. She's an MMA fighter in her spare time she might be able to help with that. I should probably ramp up my training too."

"If she agrees, I think I may take your advice on that, Sebastian," Twylla says. She chuckles and looks to Roscoe, "He's an excellent guardian, but he can't be with me _all the time._ "

At this, Roscoe makes some soft, grumbling noises. Getting to his feet, he moves the short distance to the sofa and plants himself firmly in front of his charge. He pushes his massive head against the laptop. Laughing softly, Twylla lifts it out of the way. She leans forward and hugs Roscoe's neck, scratching his fur playfully.

"Oh, I know you'd be there all day, every day, if you could. But, I'm pretty certain that Swanson would have little fits if you came to the office with me. It will be good for me to learn to defend myself!"

"Ok great. I can try to press Detective Spinelli, but that may be more of a slow-burn given the NOPD's resources," Sven replies. "I also wouldn't be surprised if the case gets taken off their hands altogether. I wouldn't mind following the Trey Petrelli lead either, I've got some legitimate concerns over how the murder of an internet startup exec is going to affect our efforts to attract such businesses to the city. Was he involved with the company too?"

"Petrelli is the CEO of _Socialize_ ," Twylla offers.

"OK... so I'll check with my family and try to find things on the Egyptian angle. Sven will talk to Detective Spinelli to see if the police have found out anything else. Sebastian can check out the beach locals to see if anybody saw someone with a horse at the beach yesterday, and Twylla can see if she can find anything about Project Argus, especially if any names on that list come up involved with it. You never know... they might be this killers next targets."

Kenari looks to everyone to see if they have anything to add. "Does that sound about right for our next plan of action?"

"That sounds like a plan! I'll also check to see if this data has been leaked out into the open market. Most people wouldn't give it a second glance, figuring it's all fantasy but...someone's gunning for us. So, there is someone out there who takes it very seriously," Twylla says.

"Also, we need to decide what to do about the bug in hangar. Are we going to leave it, for now, and try to remember to be super careful about what everyone says while there, or smoosh it and try to figure out who bugged us in the first place?" she asks.

She chews on her bottom lip as she thinks. After a moment, she says, "I vote we smash it. Yeah, if it belongs to the Feds, we can use it to feed them information. But, we don't know for certain that it's theirs. And, the longer it sits there, the greater the possibility that someone forgets about it and says something they shouldn't."

"If we smash it, we need to be prepared for what might come after," Kenari replies. "Whether that's a new bug, or a personal visit because we've escalated things... who knows. We'll need to up our _own_ surveillance of the hanger just in case."

"My team can handle that part. We were already planning on bumping it up and we have the equipment to do so," Sebastian nodded.

"All right then," Kenari replies as she takes one of the bags from underneath the couch and stands up to sling it over her shoulder. "I guess we all know what we're doing next. Keep in touch if anything goes wrong or if you learn anything new, and I will be sure to do the same."

She reaches down to scratch Roscoe behind the ear and stands, pulling the hood up over her hair with a smile. "I suggest we not all leave at once, and keep those eyes in the backs of your heads focused."

"Here!" Twylla pulls the thumb drive out of her laptop and hands it to Kenari before she leaves. "That has my info and a copy of Sebastian's video."

"Be careful, out there," she smiles. "I'll swing by the shop later in the week."

Kenari unzips her hoodie just enough to slip the thumb drive into her cleavage with a wink before zipping it back up. "I'll keep it safe. You just make sure you do the same."

She looks to Sven and Sebastian. "You two be safe too."

She then smiles and nods to everyone before hunching her shoulders in a slouch, the hood of her hoodie hanging low over her face as she walks out the door.

"Twylla, is there a way to keep a pair of digital eyes on me? Whoever listened to us last night will most likely turn their attention to me in some way, or to Christine. I have all my protections in place, but they've never actually been put to any test, and they're more intended to cover my tracks rather than to keep people from getting at me."

Twylla nods, "Sure! Tracking phones is simple enough, as you know. So, as long your phone is on, I can find you...if you have it with you. I can also install some monitoring software that will alert me if anyone tries any funny business with your computers."

Sven passed her his work phone and laptop for her to fiddle with. "You both have your keys to this place too, right? Feel free to leave your bags here if you want, or secure them elsewhere like Kenari. The door deadbolts if someone is in here but otherwise that key will open all the locks."

"Yup! Got my key. It's safe and sound. Hopefully, we won't have to use this place but...it's good to have it. Thanks for putting those bags together for us, by the way," Twylla smiles over the top of the computer.

"Oh!" she pauses and looks to Sebastian, a new thought occurring to her. "Would you like for me to put this software on the Stormwatch computers? I can teach Ryan how to use it, so he can help keep an eye on you guys. He's smart. It'll be a piece of cake, for him."

"I'll have Diana schedule something unrelated with your company to keep things appearing as business as usual," Sebastian answered Twylla. He then sat down and waited patiently for Twylla to finish her work.

* * *

It's not all that late - perhaps nine pm - but late enough that common sense can take a back seat to bravado.

"Look," the bouncer from the bar was saying. "You're done for the night. Just move along."

"Immajusnjoyinmabeer," a patron slurs. "Whynyalemmenjoymbeer?"

"Hey, Pal, you've had enough. Go home."

"Fuggyou," the patron mutters, trying to push past the bouncer and re-enter the bar.

"Last time," the bouncer warned, finger-thumping the patron in the sternum. "Go. Home."

"Can you access the mall security cameras?" Kenari whispers as she leans against the wall and pulls out her lighter to light a cigarette.

 _I am the Eye in the Sky, looking at youuuuuuuu ..._

"Not even with a bucket with handles," you cough.

 _Don't forget the road map._

Kenari strolls across the way with a sigh, cigarette in hand.

"You don't want to drink here, man, these things are overpriced and watered down. The Tikki Lounge down the street, they've got Ladies Night going on. Not only are the well drinks cheaper, but the eye candy is a lot better than _these_ assholes."

As she looks over her shoulder at the bouncer she gives him a wink and then inhales a puff of her cigarette as she waits for the drunks reply.

"Jeswhodya thinner talkinto?" the drunk slurs. He staggers a half-step in your direction, but the bouncer pivots to block him.

"Nuh-uh, Champ," the bouncer says. "Leave the lady alone."

"Nobuddy telsme whadda do," the drunk tries to push around the bouncer, but fails. The effort leaves him off-balance, and he falls on his ass, sitting there as if trying to remember how he got there.

"Evening, folks," says a police officer. His partner is hanging back off to one side, setting his Coke on the hood of a nearby car. "Something wrong, Mike?"

"Nah. Guy's just had one too many, being a jerk."

"Are you going to be all right, Sir?" the officer asked. "We'd be happy to give you a ride home."

The patron shook his head angrily as he got unsteadily to his feet. He staggered a few steps, leaning against a post along the covered walkway.

"Mmm-hmm," the officer says, nodding at his partner. They begin following the drunk. "Have a quiet night, Mike."

"Some people just don't know how to have a good time without trying to ruin it for the rest of us," Kenari sighs as she exhales the last of her cigarette and flicks the stub into the ashtray used to prop the door of the bar open.

"Maybe next time he'll listen... but I doubt it," the bouncer grunts. "Nice try, though."

"Hey, least I could do, Mike," she replies as she walks over to her bike and sits astride it. She pauses and turns to look back at the bouncer with a wink. "Oh, and don't tell Rudy I said that about his drinks... he'll never forgive me."

Mike chuckles. "Your secret's safe with me, ma'am."

 _You should know, the bar's a mob joint. Not a front for anything, but part of the Scorselli crime family._

"Oh, great," you say.

 _The nice thing is that family is family. Only time you get hung out to dry is if you screwed the pooch. What else you have on deck, K?_

Kenari kick starts the bike and coasts forward to the exit of the parking lot as she checks traffic. "Well, I don't want to bother dad this late and Senbi is probably on a date... but I'll bet Haji is still up at the shop. Might be a good time to ask him if he's seen anything strange without worrying dad."

She quirks an eyebrow. "That is... unless you've got anything interesting for me?"

 _Negative on the 10-30,_ Mouser says, using the police 'ten-code' for burglary. _Enjoy the night off. Stay out of ... oh, nevermind._

The shop is quiet, though there are still one or two customers browsing the bins. Two young women are discussing which potpourri blend will appeal to their respective boyfriends, and Haji is studiously trying to not look like he's scoping them out.

"Masa al xeir," he smiles at you.

"Masa an nur," you reply.

* * *

It doesn't take Twylla long to finish installing what is needed onto Sven's phone and computer. Since she uses her laptop to monitor clients' systems when she is out, she has just about everything she needs with her. And, what she doesn't have is easily downloaded.

"Alright, let me show you some of the goodies I've put on here..." she says as she turns the laptop around so Sven can see the screen. "If you are going to do any anonymous searching, you'll want to run this program...it'll hide your IP and your activity, for the most part. Your ISP can still see what you do, but this will stop casual observation. And this right here will send me notifications if anyone tries to monkey with your system from outside. So, don't turn that off! I also installed some blockers and whatnot that will make it harder for people to hack. They are...here and...here..." Twylla points out the programs running in the task manager so that Sven knows what they look like.

"Great!" she says to Sebastian. She hands him back his original thumb drive with the footage of the knife. "If you need me to figure out the frequency on that bug, just let me know. I don't if that's something that Rob and Ryan can handle, or not. But, as always, I can do it if you need me to!"

"If you two don't need anything else, I think I'm going to skedattle. I have a lot of poking around I need to do on the webs and I'd just as soon get started while everything is still fresh," she says as she puts away her things.

"Thanks Twylla! I think we all know what we need to do," replies Sven.

Twylla knows her craft as well as anyone on the Stormwatch team. It's a kind of magic that is difficult to describe to those who have never been 'in the zone' or riding that perfect high of adrenaline and dancing on the razor's edge. In moments, she's crafted a technological web that is a comforting 'reality' set against things like being able to walk on air or breathe underwater.

You wonder, briefly, what Catherine Martinez' parentage was, and whether or not she had even gotten a chance to spread her wings, so to speak. And then, you also consider there could well be a 'god of computers,' but have no idea who it would be.  
Not that you're looking for an introduction. Or a demonstration.

Sven's business phone bloops while Twylla is fiddling with it, but she presses on, rooting it or modifying some aspect of its firmware. She does the same for his burner phone, even though it's a deniable asset.

"Message," she says, handing both back to Sven.

You glance at the phone, and it's a message from Faren.

 _Heads up, CP got a call from the Mayor, he's being pressured to 'do something' about beach murder this morning. Staff on standby if you need us, otherwise have good weekend._

* * *

The phones are easily modded. Prepping an .exe that will perform the same tasks on the Stormwatch computers takes slightly longer, but you're able to provide Sebastian with a one-click solution.

And then it's time to disappear, not just because there's a hit list of Scions accessible to the government, but because after-hours hacking is often the best time to breach someone's security.

 _Ain't no rest for the wicked / Money don't grow on trees .._. you whistle as you head for the door.

"Alrighty, then! Ya'll take care," Twylla puts her baseball cap back on and tucks her hair away as best she can. She pulls up her hoodie and waves cheerily before opening the door.

Roscoe hops up and bumps into both Sebastian and Sven on the way out, giving them a couple of licks good-bye before he follows his charge back out onto the New Orleans streets.

* * *

After Twylla had left, Sebastian turned to Sven, "I really am sorry about earlier tonight. We good?" He extended a hand to Sven.

Sven shook his hand, "Absolutely. We should try to do something with your team soon so I can make it up to them. I hadn't realized how close you were to them - I trust my own staff only about as far as I can throw them. Not because they don't deserve my trust, they do, but I'm just... I'm very careful with who I decide to let my guard down around. But my insecurities shouldn't be a burden on my compatriots."

Sven got more comfortable and pulled a small humidor from his desk.

"I was thinking, tonight we looked at our murder case from the perspective of who, how, and why - but we didn't cover _where._ I know you were going to look into the horse angle, but could you also see if there was something significant to the _location_ of the body? She was brought there on purpose from somewhere else, it's not like they dumped her out of a moving car. Maybe something like odd weather patterns, or maybe some geographic significance, either on the beach, or out in the water. Did you see anything while you were diving?"

Sven started rolling a joint and raised an eyebrow to Sebastian, his version of offering someone a beer.

Sebastian shook his head, "I'm good. Still need to run home. I can definitely look into the location data see if there are any storm trends like an overly common landfall location or something." He turned to go and hesitated. "Again, I am sorry about the hanger. The bug happened on my turf and that means I am responsible. Whether we like it or not we are in this together. I will do everything in my power to protect you and your boss." His tone definitive.

Sven sincerely nodded his thanks, "We didn't know we were already being targeted. We're all making this up as we go along, we just gotta hope we do a better job of that than the other guy."

"Take care," Sebastian said as he left the building and began his jog back home. _I think I'll stop by and visit the shrine tomorrow. Maybe the old man will tell me something useful this time._

Sven sat back and lit his joint, staring at the ceiling, organizing his thoughts and planning his next move.

* * *

Kenari hangs up her jacket and walks over to the girls with a smile as she picks up a small vial of essential oil with a jangle of her bracelets. "I recommend Jasmine. It's good with a diffuser for the room, or with more _personal_ applications." She takes a dab of the oil and places some on her wrist.

"It's a light scent that stimulates the senses without getting too heavy. If you have any doubts, however, I am sure my brother would be more than glad to play guinea pig if you need to try them out."

She does her best not to laugh as she hears Haji clear his throat behind her.

One of the girls giggles as the other answers, "We'll take your word for it," and picks up the Jasmine to take it to the counter where Haji rings them out with barely a blush.

Kenari sighs with a shake of her head and turns the Open sign to Closed as the two girls laugh about who gets to try it first and head out the door.

"As much as you are my sister, I do not need any help dating," Haji huffs as he starts counting out the register for the night.

"That may be the case, but I do need help from you, Haji," Kenari replies. "Tell me... have there been any customers as of late who have given you a... bad feeling? Maybe Manu or Senbi or father might have mentioned someone in the past?

"You mean, did I feel a disturbance in the Force?" Haji asks. "No. Our usual customers and tourists. Manu did have a run-in with some religious kooks, though. Wrong city for that sort of thing."

"Oh, tell Father we're running low on cassia, cedar oil, and cedar resin," he adds. "I ... let them get lower than I should. I'm afraid he'll blow his stack if I tell him."

Kenari sighs and rolls her eyes. "Don't we have two _other_ brothers for that, Haji? I'm serious... there are bad people out there taking it upon themselves to carry out the judgement of the gods personally... and rather brutally. According to the police one woman has already died because of them, so I need you all to be careful. If someone comes in asking for information about funerary practices, the book of the dead, that kind of thing... please... let me know but don't do anything else to get involved,

OK?"

"Wait, wait ... you're serious?" Haji asks. "I mean, I understand you and father worship Bast, but ... there's someone else? And what do you mean, 'judgment of the gods'?"

He swallows nervously. An arm's length relationship with the gods isn't unusual; most people don't think about it - really think about it - or the consequences of their beliefs in the real world. It's all about an afterlife, or heaven, or paradise, or whatever.

"You mean the whole Anubis weighing your heart against a feather thing? He's _here,_ in New Orleans?"

"I don't know _who_ is doing it Haji... but somebody is certainly trying to make it _look_ like they're carrying out the rites from the Book of the Dead... and making quite a mess out of it. It could be another Egyptian Scion like myself, or it could be some psycho trying to lay the blame on us."

She gnaws at her bottom lip nervously as she paces back and forth. "I don't want any of you to get involved in this... _especially_ Dad... but if the police have anybody intelligent on staff, eventually they're going to start asking questions considering our shop and heritage. I just wanted you all to be aware... and be careful. If you or the others remember anyone or see anyone new in the shop asking especially about that kind of thing, _please_ let me know."

Haji blanches. "Shit. Cassia, cedar oil, and cedar resin are all funerary items. But I don't remember any single client making large purchases of those items. Perhaps several clients making smaller purchases. I don't know. I mean, one year we had that archaeology professor buying up the same stuff."

"Have any purchases been more recent, maybe?" Kenri asks hopefully. "I know how you get with your books, so any information at all could be helpful, Haji."

"No. We've been low on those items for ... two, no three weeks. So almost a month ago," he says. "Hey, Sis ... you're not going after these weirdos, are you?"

"I'm afraid these weirdos could be going after me and my friends next, Haji." Kenari replies as she takes his hand with a smile. "Not everyone is blessed with such accepting surroundings. I must take the offensive in this... which means you all need to make sure you take care of father."

"And who will take care of you?" he asks with a frown.

She shrugs. "The gods will have their way, Haji. I promise to be as careful as I can be though if you do the same."

"If the goddess will keep you safe, I'll convert. Or whatever," Haji says. It is, of course, not the first time one of your brothers have made such a promise. Neither your father nor yourself knows what the goddess thinks of their oaths, as she has never held them to account. "But, yes, I'll tell Manu and Senbi to keep their eyes open."

"Keep your eyes open for what?" your father's voice precedes him as he comes down the stairs.

"For my new friends, Father," Kenari replies with an easy smile. "The goddess brought us together, but I have yet to find out why. I feel I may just have to ask her myself if I want answers."

"I picked up a new collection of herbal teas and inhalers that should help with the headaches... if you feel you must," Haji offers.

"I am having good results with the white flower oil," Amon says. "Kenari. A moment, please?"

He goes over to a corner where a statue of Bastet watches over the store.

"You know that if you ask, she will hear you. The difficult part is understanding her answer. It is part of why your brothers do not 'believe' as you and I do - they are too grounded in this world to be mindful of the world beyond our senses."

"Yes father," Kenari replies with a resigned sigh. "I sometimes wish they could see what we do... but perhaps..." she chews her lip in worry. "Perhaps it is better that they don't."

She takes her father's hand and smiles. "I will trust in the goddess and what she has to say... and hope she listens when I ask her to watch over you. Whatever may come, father... I do not wish to see you or my brothers hurt for it."


	4. Death Becomes Her

The luxury resort was well-removed from civilization, but guests could hardly be described as wanting for creature comforts. There were staff to open doors, carry your luggage, arrange day trips to neighboring islands and entertainment venues, as well as masseuses and stylists. One could even order custom-tailored clothes. Still, the trappings of humanity were somewhat incongruous to what was taking place in the poolside meeting room. It was a meeting of the gods, for good or ill.

"What comes next is for the mortals to decide," rumbles the All-Father.

Most of Odin's colleagues, male and female, nodded sagely. Apollo and Aphrodite were lazing about the pool, while Dionysus was amusing himself at the tiki bar.

"More sake!" Raiden pronounced.

"Agreed," said Zeus. He was dressed in sharply-creased slacks and a sky blue polo shirt. "What the All-Father was speaking of, not Raiden's drink order."

A tiny paper umbrella flicked through the air, accompanied by a basso laugh that was openly mocking. "You'll need this, then."

"You have something to say, Loa?" sneered Poseidon.

Baron Samedi's smile beamed from amid his traditional death-mask makeup. He took a long draw from a Cohiba. "A storm is coming. A fucking big one, too. A gentlemen's agreement will not be worth much … and even if it were, we are hardly gentlemen."

"Speak for yourself," Artemis said coldly. Samedi tipped his hat to the huntress.

Horus nodded in agreement. "He is correct. We are not given to … sitting things out."

"We all have horses in this race," Samedi grinned. "Some of us, more than one."

"Horse racing! Now you're talking!" Raiden pounded on the table in approval, then belched. "Let's have some fun!"

"And you accuse us, hok gwei?" Shihuangdi looked down his nose at Samedi.

"You're not listening," Baron Samedi rolled his eyes. "What happened in Las Vegas was very nice, but … what's the saying? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. We are gods. Power and passion are in our blood ... and that of our children. Our _children._ Perhaps it's been so long that you've all forgotten what it means to be flesh and bl-"

"We were _never_ 'flesh and blood,'" countered Ra.

"Shush," purred Bast. "I want to hear what he has to say."

"Do not presume to 'shush' me, child," Ra warned.

"Samedi," Bast smiled. "Please continue."

"Their passion is ours. It is what has made them what they are today" Samedi said. "But if we deny them this gift, slam doors in their faces, we assure that we are the ones who will be left behind. I, for one, will not go quietly."

"Have you ever?" laughed Maman Brigitte. "You're one of the loudest, noisiest bastards I know."

Samedi grinned at his wife, laughing. "And proud of it, m'dear."

"And what would you have us do?" Zeus demanded.

"Change the rules," Samedi said solemnly.

* * *

 _Near Beaumont, Texas_

"And the Lord told Gideon, 'With these 300 men I will rescue you and give you victory over the Midianites.' It is also written, 'I am the Lord, Thy God. Thou shalt have no false gods before Me,'" Gabriel said sternly. He spread his hands in a gesture of benediction. "Through our actions, we will lay bare the sins of the disbelievers."

The assembly nodded in agreement.

"You have your assignments," Gabriel told them.

Michael Westlake gathered up his teammates and approached their spiritual leader. "Brother Gabriel? Your blessing, please?"

"Michael," he said. "Thomas. And Paul. Of course. Bow your heads."

The three men did as they were told.

"Lord, we beseech Thee; bless these men, your servants, and the mission they undertake in your Name. Armor them in your Wisdom and Righteousness. In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, Amen."

"Amen," the three men intoned.

Gabriel clasped the forearms of each man in turn. Nor were they the only ones who came forward to seek their leader's blessing. Three hundred men and women, divided into cells of one to three members, and tasked with the mission of opening the nation's eyes to the threat. An act to which some would stridently condemn Gabriel and the Wolves of God for, but one that was necessary to combat the lies defaming the Glory of God.

"We've got a timetable," Michael told his team. "But if either of you want to go home, say goodbye to your families …? We can make up the time on the road."

"Been on missions before," Paul said. "Though not quite like this. My Sarah understands. I appreciate the offer, Paul, but I'm good."

Thomas glanced down at his shoes. "I'd like that, if Paul doesn't mind?"

"One hour," Michael said. "We'll pick you up."

Paul waited until the younger man had left. "He's not ready, Michael."

"Young man just got married three months ago," Michael said. "Can't judge a man for being in love with his bride. If Thomas isn't ready for the task ahead, you and I can work around it. Let's load up, get some gas, and some food for the drive. We'll be in New Orleans on schedule."

* * *

 _New Orleans_

"Goddamnit!" Detective James Ashton swore as he slapped a folder onto his desk. "Almost had the little bastard."

"What case was that?" Kate Spinelli asked, even though she had her suspicions. She glanced over at her colleague's desk and confirmed them. It was a folder from Ashton's 'usual suspects' drawer. "Oh. Robinet. What's he done now?"

"Skated on a B&E on Magazine Street," Ashton snarled. "He just happened to be several blocks away and visible on a security camera."

"That's not a crime, Jim."

"He's dirty and you know it, Kate," Ashton tapped the folder before putting back in his file cabinet. "Kid's got more misdemeanors than there are letters in the word. He's a pickpocket and I'll bet you good money that he's hip deep in that string of burglaries you've got in your in-box."

"I'll handle my own investigations, thank you," Spinelli frowned. "Robinet's not a suspect."

"Take a harder look."

"Jim, look. I understand he was a thorn in your side when you were a beat cop, but let me give you some advice. You bring this grudge match to a courtroom, the public defender will make sushi out of you, and the Department walks away with a black eye. Hell, I'm surprised the Chief hasn't spoken to you about your personal 'most wanted' list."

"Fuck off, Spinelli. 'I'll handle my own investigations, thank you,'" he retorted.

* * *

Thursday was all-you-can-eat spaghetti night at Mama Benedetti's, and always packed by the locals. Tourists didn't come to New Orleans to eat Italian food, even good Italian food. Chicken Parmesan that wasn't a frozen chicken patty with a Kraft Single of mozzarella laid overtop and drowned in marinara, but a chicken breast pounded flat and breaded in a mix of seasoned bread crumbs, with shredded mozzarella and Mama Benedetti's slow-simmered marinara.

Fixer was there with his friends. Like him, they were college graduates, but the truth was that there weren't jobs for graduates. At least, not anything that wasn't slapping burgers together or bussing tables for minimum wage. So a until-you-bust pasta dinner for $12 (less if you skipped the meatballs, but only a crazy person skipped those) was damn near a Golden Ticket.

The truth was that it cost Fixer considerably more than $12. Dining here allowed him to slide an envelope with a quarterly payoff for the Scorselli Family to a server or busboy, who would promptly deliver it to the right people. It was the cost of doing business in New Orleans. The right palms had to be crossed with silver. It was true when Jean Lafitte's privateers sailed the Gulf, and it was true now, with the Mafia. The payment gave Fixer and his friends permission to work certain areas in town, and was an informal partnership between Fixer and Giovanni Scorselli III, the heir to the Scorselli criminal empire, and a former high-school classmate.  
It was the same kind of dance they did on the street, Dre watching the crowd for unfriendly eyes, Kassia and Taymon pretending to be boyfriend-girlfriend, Taymon standing up while Kassia excused herself to go to the ladies' room. And while they shielded Fixer from direct view, the envelope was affixed to the underside of the table, tucked inside the dessert menu, or even sandwiched between two plates as the table was cleared. Nothing was said, no names were spoken, and the money was clean.

* * *

 _Thursday night..._

"She's 26, works for an internet startup," Kenari says as she pulls up on a motorcycle next to an apartment building. "Boyfriend, too. She drives a Tesla. And judging from the rock on her hand, he's a possible mark down the road."

"Don't do them too close to one another," advised a voice in her ear.

"You know me better than that," Kenari told her friend and co-conspirator. "One mark will set up several more. The cards told her that there would be loss in her future, and there will be. When she tells her friends the cards predicted it, some of them will be curious and pay a visit to the wise and wonderful reader who warned her."

"The cards," said Mouser. "You mean you."

"Actually, I mean the cards," Kenari laughed. "The Five of Cups and the High Priestess both came up."

"Betokening loss and yours truly," Mouser said. They'd worked together long enough that he was conversant on the cards and their meaning. Or, he had reference material hot-linked. She knew he was very much the spider in an electronic web.

"It can also be suggestive of a happy marriage and my client," Kenari said. "Hold on, bypassing the alarm."

"Make & model?" Mouser asked.

"Graves 210," Kenari replied. Mouser kept track of such things. "And, presto." She jimmied the window and slipped inside. "I'm in. Give me fifteen," she said.

"You're on the clock," Mouser said.

"Nice place," Kenari said, not bothering with the living room. She - and Mouser - preferred small things that could be carried off easily, and whose absence might even go unnoticed for days. That would be the bedroom or bathroom for most women, and that was where she went.

A tortoiseshell cat looked up as she entered the bedroom, giving her a somewhat demanding yowl.

 _"Where is she?"_ the cat was asking.

"Your owner, little one?" Kenari asked. "I do not know. Did she not come home?"

A frustrated mewl. _No. Three days. I am out of food._

Kenari frowned. She was burning up time.

"Where's your dish?" she asked.

Another yowl. The cat hopped off the bed and strode towards the kitchen. Kenari broke off from her search and followed the animal, finding an empty bowl. The cat pawed at a cabinet door; a bag of kibble was inside. Kenari filled the bowl to the brim.

"I do not know where your owner is," she told the cat. "Will you be all right?"

 _"For now."_

"Time check," Kenari said.

"Five minutes left," Mouser reported.

"Crap."

"What is it?" he said, concerned.

"I'll tell you later. This might be a wash."

"Don't take chances. Get out of there," he said.

"Shit... I hate coming away empty handed," Kenari mutters to herself as she moves quickly back to the bedroom to check the closet. "There's got to be something...anything I can just grab..."

There's a jewelry box on the dresser, containing the usual assortment of decorative baubles, but also a couple of soft pouches in baby blue. Tiffany.  
"Jackpot," she breathes.

There's a delicate chain with a small amethyst pendant, and a sterling and rose-gold bracelet, roughly $2,000 of portable goodness. The items were slipped into Kenari's own carry bag, the Tiffany pouches left in their original places.

"Two minute warning," Mouser says.

"On my way," Kenari whispers as she turns to see the tortoise shell cat looking at her.

"Know my scent, little one," she says as she bends down to scratch the cat behind her ear. "If your human does not return, come to me and you will be welcome with open arms. In the meantime... it's time for me to go."

She moves quickly down the hallway and crawls out the window into the shadows to perch on the ledge. " I'm out," she whispers as she quietly closes the window.

Kenari sat on the roof and did a more detailed examination of her prize as she listened to the music from One Eyed Jacks drifting upwards from the open doors below. She wanted to enjoy the shining jewels in her hand that she _knew_ had to be worth a pretty penny... but she just couldn't shake the feeling that something was _off_ tonight.

"Grey... think you can do a check on that woman for me? If her cat is right, she's been gone for 3 days and didn't bother to pack or make arrangements for her pet."

She hefts the necklace in her hand as she bites her lip. "When I told her to expect loss in her future, I might've been more right than I realized."

"Running a check, hold on," Mouser says. "Works for a social media company, should have a decent footprint. Huh. Yeah, she's all over - Instagram, Twitter ... and, zap, nothing since Wednesday night. No morning coffee pictures, no weekday memes, nothing. Let me ... ah ... check the police blotter."

There's a longer pause, and you know Mouser is accessing the police computers.

"Nothing. No missing person's report yet. I can cast a wider net, look at phone records and email if you want."

"Yeah... go ahead and do that," Kenari replies as she holds up the amethyst to the light. "If the hubbie got tired of her expensive tastes, he might not have reported it to the cops. Last thing I want to do is play patsy for some rich asshole tired of his wife, you know?"

"Martinez isn't married, she's engaged to the CEO of the company she works for," Mouser tells you. "I'll let you know what I find. Maybe take a look-see at her bank records. That always works on _Law & Order_."

"Wonderful," Kenari replies dryly as she puts the jewels back in her pouch. "Guess you can add corporate espionage into that potential can of worms." She moves towards the fire escape to make her way down to the street but hesitates as a thought strikes her.

"Who does she work for, anyway?"

"Social media start-up called _Socialize!_ ," Mouser tells you. "Oriented towards smartphones. New digs in the Uptown tech sector. You might want to leave it for the cops. Because I certainly wouldn't want to recommend you take a look at the corner office on the third floor, even if you bypassed the alarm on the northeast stairwell and avoided the camera in the elevator lobby."

Kenari chuckles as she lands in the alley. "Your caution is duly noted, but I'm afraid to say my curiosity is peaked. Sex or money, you think?"

 _Isn't it usually both?_

"Too right," she mutters as she unzips her black hooded jacket and turns it inside out to reveal a colorful pattern of blues and golds. "Either way, I think our grieving fiancee and his company bear further investigation."

She puts the jacket back on and shakes out her hair. "Let me drop some things off, and then you can tell me more about those things you wouldn't do."

There's a chuckle over the earpiece. _Looking up the floor plans now..._

The night is young. It is just after midnight as you find yourself regarding the corporate headquarters of _Socialize!_ If you were more of a computer hacker, the treasure trove of personal data on their servers would be a tempting target, indeed.

"Loading dock, dumpsters in the back. Shredder bin," Mouser says. "And a security guard that goes by on the quarter-hour."

Kenari looked up at the glass walls of the building and smiled to herself as she noticed that the moldings between the panes of glass created a small ledge... and look at that, the designers of the building were even considerate enough to make the corner edges of the moldings stick out from the building as they joined together.

"Did I ever tell you how I used to get in trouble climbing up to the roof of our home as a kid? I was jealous of the cats and wanted to see what they saw..."

There's a sigh over the earpiece. _That's a new one, actually. Let me check the roof entrance..._

She raises her turtleneck over the lower half of her face and pulls up her hood before checking her gloves. "You've got 10 minutes," she replies before running towards the building.

You stifle an expression of frustration. It looks easier in the movies, thieves equipped with fancy climbing rigs, rappeling down from the heights, bypassing laser beams and disinterested guards. It's more like free-climbing a mountain, a process of handholds and leverage, knowing when to press and when to pause.

Nine minutes, forty-eight seconds. _Nice job,_ you tell yourself.

"Standard locks, electrical," Mouser tells you. "You know the drill."

"What's the situation inside?" Kenari asks as she pries open the face plate of the keypad and pulls a set of tools out of her pouch. "Poorly paid college students working as night shift security guards?"

"Top-of-the-line system, monitored cameras, keycard access to elevators and the server farm. Nothing we can't hack, bypass, or disable," Mouser says. "Guards are a private company, good rep."

"Nothing we can't hack, bypass, or disable," you smirk. "Hey, this is nice. Landau 5150."

 _Eeny meeny miney moe / You can't see me / Here I go / All your secrets I'll soon know / Eeeny meeny miney moe_

LEDs blink three times, then flash a telltale standby pattern. The system is offline, for now. The door yields to a moment with a diamond pick.

"I'm in."

"Ditto. Camera on the landing, clear. Go now."

"Third floor."

"Fisheye over the elevators. Pick your way through the cubicle farm."

"Which corner?"

"Northeast."

"Got it."

"I'm _so_ going to start calling you Morpheus now," Kenari whispers as she crouches low and moves from cubicle to cubicle as she makes her way towards the offices of Catherine Martinez. "Door security?" she whispers.

"Standard lock. Her workstation will be token-protected," Mouser says. "Lemme see what I can do."

You glance about the empty cubicle farm before slipping into Martinez' office. There's a dozen roses in a vase on her desk, with a card that reads, "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry."

So much for the high drama of a murder-for-money scheme.

Standard executive desk, a small conference set-up in the corner, a fancy big-screen monitor with real-time performance specs. A collection of stuffed penguins on the bookcase: Linux, Bloom County, Happy Feet.

None of the locks on the drawers are worth mentioning. Routine files. Some security-clearance type stuff, including a folder on Twylla's company. No memos or blackmail files.

But the desk has an old-fashioned sideboard. You slide it out to its full extension, and there's a 3x5 card with a set of usernames and passwords. Her own terminal, and the servers, no doubt ...

"I just love it when people are predictable," Kenari chuckles before reading off the list of usernames and passwords to Grey Mouser. "See if any of those are the keys to the kingdom while I look around."

Kenari crouches down next to the bookcase and begins to search for anything out of the ordinary that might be slipped between or behind the books on the shelf. "We'll see if I'm the only one who's watched too many movies..."

There is nothing behind the books, or even behind the shelf, proper. But amid the technical manuals, Schneier's _Applied Cryptography_ , there are several novels, including a well-worn hardcover of _The Secret Garden,_ still bearing a library catalog number affixed to the spine.

 _Which means a pocket inside ..._

Sure enough, there's a small pocket inside the cover, holding the original check-out card, a dog-eared library card for 'C. Martinez,' and a card key.

Jackpot.

"Speaking of keys," Kenari whispers as she taps it against her hand with a smile, "I wonder what the head CIO's will get me into?"

There's a low whistle. _That's like the One Ring of key cards right there. I'm still going through the password and username combinations, so hold tight._

Kenari plasters herself against the solid wood door and slowly reaches up to activate the lock as she sees the movement of a flashlight through the frosted glass of the office windows. "I'm not going anywhere right now," she whispers.

Evading the security guard is literally a game of cat-and-mouse. You don't want to get too eager and move before he's out of range, but your sideline is always mindful of the clock and that narrow window of opportunity.

The guard concludes his rounds, and you're on the move, retracing your steps through the damned cubicle farm and upstairs to the server farm. Use of the CTO's cardkey is likely to leave an electronic footprint, but it's unavoidable.

Rack upon rack of RAIDs (Redundant Array of Inexpensive Disks) comprise the 'cloud' that is the backbone of _Socialize!_ \- a perfect net in which to collect and collate enormous amounts of personal data. It's a pity you can't run a search routine to winnow out potential targets for future larcenous outings.

But it's the the burnished black tower of removable storage units that draws your attention, seven pairs labelled alphabetically, in some form of chronological order. A multi-terabyte drive and a backup for each day of the week.

You have neither the time nor carrying ability to take everything, but a pair of the drives would be just within the realm of the possible.

"Decisions, decisions..." Kenari whispers to herself as she runs a finger down the rack. "Who wants to come home with me? The cat said her master had been gone for three days..." she grabs the unit and back-up that she hopes from the labeling is from three days ago. "Let's see if _you_ can provide some answers."

 _The Scion of Ptah should be able to help. Between her and my skills we'll crack this cookie and find our fortune._

"I'd settle for some answers," Kenari whispers. "Hands are going to be full so heading out the same way is out. What's the safest route out of this rat maze?"

 _Checking cameras now..._

 _Well what do you know... looks like an anonymous prankster gave the address for the building when ordering half a dozen pizzas and they're giving them the food for free. Lucky, huh?_

Kenari chuckles as she slips through the stairwell door and listens as the guards below talk about what kind of toppings they hope the pizza has before the heavy door clicks behind them.

"Yeah... imagine that."

She silently makes her way down the stairs and past a conveniently malfunctioning security camera before deactivating the fire alarm and sneaking out the emergency exit.

"That reminds me... I should pick up some more food for Matit on the way home," she says to herself as she straps her prizes to the back of her bike and puts on her helmet.

 _You should hit the Stop & Rob over at the corner of Toluse and Bourbon street. I hear they've got a lockbox for goodwill donations out front. You know how I feel about worthy causes..._

"I'll be sure to make a donation," Kenari says with a smile before revving the motorcycle engine to life and driving off into the night.

* * *

 _Friday Morning, Stormwatch Hangar_

Sebastian was concerned when he saw airfield security outside Stormwatch's hangar.

"Morning, Mr. Vogel," said the officer.

"Glen," Sebastian said. "Is there a problem?"

"Someone cut the lock down at the north end of the field," Glen told him. "We're just checking with tenants to make sure everything's ship shape."

"Just got here, myself," Sebastian said. He keyed in the alarm code and opened the door. On first glance, everything was where it should be. The plane was ready to go, the lockers where their equipment and drones were, secure.

"Everything looks like it's here. If I find a little blond girl sleeping on the crash couch in the office, I'll holler," he told the security officer.

"Blond girl? With y'all, I expect some bear wrestling," Glen laughed. "Have a good day, Mr. Vogel."

Sebastian pulled out his phone as he did a walk around of the hanger. After two rings a woman's groggy voice answered incoherently.

"Hey Kylia, sorry to wake you early but I need you to get in ASAP," he said. The reply was still incoherent and decidedly grumpy. "Looks like there were some break-ins at the air-field. Everything looks normal but I want you to give the plane a once over before we're in the air." he spoke slowly, to help it ease through her morning funk.

The line was quiet for a few moments before she responded with significantly more alert, "I'll be right there." After the call, he sent out a mass text to the rest of the team with an update and then headed into the office to start the coffee.

"Anything missing?" Diana asks as she gets out of her car.

"Still checking," Rob Wilkins said. "Cameras are all present and accounted for, so are the drones. I was worried we were going to be on the list of snatch-and-grabs the newsies have to put up with."

"The newsies have to put up with it because they're driving around in brightly-painted vans and parked outside major events," Kylia rolled her eyes. "They're easy targets."

"Nothing on the horizon, Boss," Ryan said, approaching with the day's weather forecast. It was still hurricane season, but there was only a tropical storm off Cuba, likely to be downgraded in a day. His eyes brightened as he looked at Sebastian. "Which means ..."

"It's wingsuit time!" Rob crowed.

"Your arms are going to get tired. Ain't done with my preflight," Kylia pointed out.

Sebastian grinned at his team's enthusiasm. "Man this season has been weak. Network's gonna be pissed if we can't get some good footage." Despite the early start it had been a really mild season, with a decent number of storms but all of them fairly weak and no major land falls. The team was good at coming up with filler footage for the network to slap into time blocks, but the lack of any real storms felt wrong. _It's like the calm before a storm,_ Sebastian mused, thinking back to the events earlier in the summer and his discovery of his parentage.

He had expected shit to hit the fan immediately. His private hanger was stocked with emergency supplies and he kept the burner cell phone on him at all times. He had even built a concealed sword rack into the trunk of his car so that _Arashi_ would be close at hand if needed, but nothing had come of it yet.

 _And then there are the people who, no matter how much warning they have, always manage to get caught short. Stranded behind fire lines, stuck on the roof in a flood, whatever,_ you chide yourself. _Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it isn't just off the coast._

"We could drive out to the coast and run the submersible camera through its paces," Rob suggests. "I know the big piece on the 5th Anniversary of Deepwater Horizon was earlier this year, but we just hit the 'official' end date. Or, like I said, we test out the wingsuits. Maybe do a HALO jump."

 _Skies are clear but maybe what's coming is below the surface,_ Sebastian pondered, _plus I've been meaning to test my watery powers in more... heh... depth._ "Let's take that water camera for spin," he announced out-loud, "We haven't done much with that piece of equipment yet." He patted Ryan on the back, "Besides Ryan's doctor still hasn't cleared him for any of the fun stuff yet and I'd hate to leave a member behind."

"Fine by me," smiles Kylia. "Gives me the rest of the day to work on my girl. I take care of her, she takes care of us."

She pats the fuselage of the Stormwatch plane.

"All right, Rob, let's load up the Explorer," you tell him. "And Ryan, no jumps for you until the doc says so, okay?"

Ryan rolls his eyes and waggles his fingers to emphasize that he's going more than a little stir-crazy. But he wouldn't be part of the group if he was a take-it-easy sort, would he?

The team rushed around loading dive gear and wet suits into the massive armored vehicle, Explorer. Really it looked more like something from a Mad Max film than anything a simple weather team would drive. It was a heavily modified SUV, reinforced to nearly military standards and painted in the Storm Watch's white and blue. The team usually spent a few weeks chasing tornadoes in the Midwest during the early spring off season and it served that purpose well.

The team, minus Kylia, was loaded up and ready to go within 15 minutes. They'd be beach side within the hour.

You've been diving in the Gulf several times since Deepwater Horizon, and the reality beneath the surface doesn't match the slick PR job about how everything's been cleaned up and life is back to normal, please, drop on by for some jambalaya and slow-smoked baby back ribs.

But the ecosystem isn't entirely open for business-as-usual. The impact of the spill is ongoing and not entirely understood. Today's dive will yield some stock footage that TWC will be able to use, as well as form the basis for a segment in an upcoming show.

"State Troopers up ahead," Rob says. He slows and comes to a stop as an officer flags him down. "Morning!"

"Morning, Sir," the trooper says. "I'm sorry, but the beach is closed."

"Is there something wrong?" Diana smiles. "We're with The Weather Channel and were hoping to do some taping."

"Well, you can pull over and wait, but I think we'll have the area closed off well into the afternoon," the trooper says. "Sorry."

 _The beach shut down entirely._ Now Sebastian really wanted to get to the beach. He rolled down the back window and put on his best TV smile. _Hopefully he watches the show_. "Surely you guys don't need the whole beach. We just need to get our camera in the water and get some footage under the waves. We'll stay well clear of any cordons if we can just go around."

"I'm sorry, it's a crime scene. You'll have to take it up w-" the trooper pauses, making a face as he considers something. "An underwater camera, eh? A drone, too, I'd bet. Let me get the captain down here. You might be able to do us a solid."

"Stormwatch. My kids love your show," the Captain says. "Got a dead body, so the beach is closed. But, and that's a very large and vague but, if you can help us with a drone flyover and nosing around in the water, you'll save us some time. We can't pull divers out of our hats. You're here, and there's still plenty of daylight.

"You work with our people, and we get first shot at your video."

 _Looks like the beach was the right call,_ Sebastian concluded as the chief was speaking. "That seems more than fair," He responded to the chief with a nod and a smile, "We're in the weather business not the news business. Plus if we can help, it's our civic duty. And we'll see if we can't get something for you to take home to your son as well."

The chief gave them specific directions on where to park and told them to wait for an escort. As Diana carefully followed the instructions, Ryan turned from the front passenger seat, his face a bit pale, "A dead body? Maybe we should just leave this to the police." The rest of the crew had grim faces as well.

Sebastian gave the rest of the team a warm smile, "Hey I know this isn't our normal deal, but we are here and have what they need, so maybe it's fate. If anyone is uncomfortable with it, I'll cover you a taxi back to town." All three of them shook their head at the offer.

"Fate, huh?" Diana mused, "That's not something I expected to hear coming from you."

He shrugged, "I know it feels a bit weird saying, but our timing seems awfully convenient."

"What we'd like, if you have the gear for it, is a flyover of the immediate area with a drone," the Captain said. "Looking for anything that might stand out - weapons, a tire track, whatever. And then, since she was lying right at the surf line, a small grid-pattern search."

"How ... how'd she die?"

"Messily," is all the Captain said.

"You heard the man," Sebastian barked, "Ryan and Rob, get two drones airborne and comb the beach for a mile in each direction. Just like when we survey a storm's aftermath. Let the chief know if you find anything that shouldn't be on the beach." They both react immediately and begin to undock two of the team's camera drones from their charging stations in the wall of Explorer. He turned back to the chief, "We only have 1 underwater camera. I'm the strongest swimmer here, so I can take that out and run a zig-zag pattern in case there is anything under the waves. Diana will act as mission control."

Everyone nodded in agreement and Sebastian sliped into the van to suit up. While he did he took a moment to punch in a quick message to the burner phone: _Dead woman on beach. Cops spooked. SW helping survey site._

He emerged a few minutes later in wet-suit and diving gear.

The drones are airborne inside of fifteen minutes, Rob and Ryan working them with their usual ease - and a bit of _Stormwatch_ flair. Most hobbyists spend their first few weeks trying to make their videos not look like a GoPro mounted on a drunken camel.

"No sign of other vehicles," Rob noted. "Someone dumped her out here and drove off, or dumped her at sea and she washed up this morning. Wonder who spotted her, and if there's sea water in her lungs."

"Hey, easy on, Jethro," Ryan said, referring to the lead investigator on NCIS. "Let's not clutter up the picture with our own wild-and-crazy ideas. She probably got found by someone on their morning run, or even a park ranger."

"Messily," the man said. "Hey, Dee, can we parlay this into some PR? Stormwatch helps local law enforcement? I bet TWC would gobble that up."

"Maybe. We'll see," she answered. "No point promoting it if we come up empty-handed."

The rover dove into the waters of the Gulf, the gleam of its searchlight visible from above.

"Okay, starting my dive," Sebastian said, checking his chronometer and toggling his GoPro. He swept his head back and forth to establish where he was, then slid under the surf.

It was quiet, as always. The absence of a larger storm system meant good visibility. Sebastian began a methodical search, occasionally brushing aside sand and silt with his hand.

Nothing.

Until he came across something that shouldn't be there.

It was a dagger. A broad, flat blade, a handle of horn wrapped with a leather thong. Balanced enough that, tossed into the water, its weight had brought it down point first. Submerged, it would be difficult to detect blood or other trace evidence. But it wasn't a diver's knife at all.

Pulling out one of the evidence bags the chief had given him, Sebastian started trying to pull the blade out without touching it. _This is a lot harder than it looks on TV,_ he mused after a few minutes of trying to use the techniques one of the detectives had drilled into him before going under. To aid in the safe retrieval, he called on his influence over water to make a gentle current to help clear the dagger of the floor, but subtle enough it shouldn't look unusual on the video. Once it was free he sealed it in the bag, along with a fair amount of sea water, and held it in front of the camera.

You surface with the knife in its bag, waving at one of the troopers.

"Winner winner chicken dinner," he says as he takes note of the contents. "Okay, let's pour out the excess water and let the Captain know."

Rob and Ryan have had a similarly fruitful time of it, if you could call it that, with the discovery of some horse droppings. No tire tracks because they hauled the victim out here on horseback. A lot of trouble for - what, exactly?

Not wanting to push the cops too far with questions, Sebastian let them work while he headed back to the van to dry off. While he was there he checked the burner phone. _High ranking member of a tech company killed by a practically archaic dagger and dragged here by horse? What is this some kind of luddite extremist?_ he pondered as tapped out a reply. _Killed with an old knife, dragged here by horse. Money says this is the storm front._

Stashing the phone, he grabbed a T-shirt and baseball cap bearing the team's logo from their swag box as well as one of the dozens of pre-signed photos. Out of the van he found the chief. "For your son," he said handing over the memorabilia, "Looks like we were able to help out after all. That knife might have been impossible to find after the tidal change. Anything else we can do?"

"My son thanks you," the Captain says, removing his Smokey Bear hat and tucking the goodies in it. And then he looks at the bag with the knife.

"Why me, Lord?" he asks under his breath. "All right, let's canvass the area, find out if anyone owns a horse. 'Cause otherwise we got a cowboy with no cattle running around."

"No purse, no wallet, but those would be harder to find in the sand," says another trooper.

"Give us twenty to recharge the batteries, and we can do a nap-of-the-earth run," Rob says.

"Thanks, but that's one we'll have to do the old-fashioned way," says the Captain. "Like doing a FOD walkdown on an airfield."

Sebastian nodded to the officer. "Well if you need anything else let us know. I'll go put a copy of the videos and put them on some memory cards you can take with you." Sebastian headed back to the van to do just that. He also grabbed a few screenshots that showed off the key clues and stored them on a separate micro-SD to send out to the other Scions. _I'm amazed Twylla even found phones that take external memory these days,_ Sebastian mused as he slipped the card into the back of his phone and sent out the pictures.

"I really appreciate your help, Mr. Vogel," the Captain says. "We might have found the horseshit, but the knife? That was you being in the right place at the right time, and it might even be critical to cracking this case."

"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves, Captain," says a woman with dark, shoulder-length hair and cool grey eyes. She's wearing a no-nonsense set of khakis with a powder-blue blouse and black half-boots. A shield is clipped to her belt, and a dark blue NOPD windbreaker announces her affiliation and reason for being here. "Kate Spinelli, NOPD."

"Detective," the Captain smiles. "Body's by the orange flag, and Mr. Vogel's people helped us with two pieces of evidence. A knife ..."

He holds up the bag. Spinelli frowns.

"... and the ... um, droppings."

"Relax, Captain, I've heard worse. Even been called worse," Spinelli smiles. "Slow day for you, Vogel?"

"Somewhat. TWC might have us chase Joaquin if it turns into something, but there's nothing right now, so we were going to put a new camera through its paces, maybe do a five-years later on Deepwater."

"All right, I'm going to go take a look."

"It's bad," the Captain says.

* * *

"Morning, Campers," Sven Merrick greeted his staff. "The Councillor has a meeting with the Chief of Police at 2PM, so the usual dog-and-pony show for the press."

"Friday news hole?" asked Faren, referring to the period on Friday afternoons where less-than-favorable news stories went to die. People were leaving the office, making plans for the weekend, and didn't give a shit about what politicians happened to be doing ... or not doing.

"More than likely," Sven nodded. "There's a rash of burglaries that have been drawing attention, and the police are at an impasse."

"Is it the Scorsellis?" asked another staffer.

"I doubt it. Might be a little pay-to-play going on, but it's probably not one of their people," Sven said. The Mafia was very traditional. Protection, prostitution, drugs, influence. Over the years, vending machines and video games. Sooner or later, it would be Wi-Fi hotspots. They guarded their rackets jealously, but petty theft wasn't their style.

"Could we be looking at a gang war?"

"This isn't New York," Sven frowned. Still, the days of Sam Maceo and the Balinese Room in Galveston, Texas, weren't that long ago. Sam had died from cancer in 1951, but the Balinese Room had been around until Hurricane Ike in 2008. Seven years wasn't even two full terms for a council member or mayor.

"Regardless, it sounds like a good opportunity to press him on his hiring policies again. City Hall will likely redouble their pressure on him to fill out their ranks if they've been coming up short on simple robberies, and the more we can push them away from arming a bunch of high school bullies, or carting in more loaners, the better. Let's put together some fresh materials for her, build something around the effectiveness of community relations, et cetera."

Sven tried to think of ways they could shoehorn other police-oriented platforms into the meeting - body cams, sensitivity training, boosting IA. But their political capital is still pretty thin when it comes to the Commissioner, and while the Chief hadn't been opposing their suggestions outright, even after 3 long years they acted as though Christine was too much of a newcomer to sit at the big kid's table.

Better to keep it simple and direct, then. The NOPD lost almost a third of their force due to desertion after Katrina, and since then not only have they failed to revitalize the force, they've been losing even more to resignations and reassignments.

"There's a lot of 'get it done now' going on," a staffer told Sven. "Community relations, new procedures, that all takes time, and it will never be 100%. Not when the department has detectives like Jim Ashton playing at being Elliot Ness."

Sven frowned. It was no secret that Ashton had a personal hit-list of people and organizations he blamed for New Orleans' problems, which included the local mob as well as the City Council, all of which were the result of liberal and/or progressive policies. The guy hit all the conservative high notes. He derided the prison system as a revolving door for repeat offenders and shelters as a hotel for professional vagrants. The city was hurting for funds because it was throwing money away on those who would never reform and never contribute to society.

"I'll massage the numbers, gin up a nice package for the media," Faren said. "Have it ready for you by lunch."

"Can someone find out how closed-room the meeting is after the babies are all kissed? If we can corner the Chief on doing something about Ashton's vendetta we might actually get somewhere. The last thing we want is for the media to start painting him with the whole 'Maverick McClane' brush. Also, see if we can find someone on the force who is actually doing something productive, let's make a hero out of _him."_

"Make a hero out of _her,_ you mean," said Faren. "Detective Kate Spinelli. Father's a detective with the SFPD. Top of her class at the Academy. She's the one who made the 'submarine' bust last year, where they were running coke in low-profile boats."

"Meeting is totally closed-door. City Council, the Chief, Assistant Chief, District Attorney," a staffer told Sven. "Toss Ashton's vendetta into the Friday news hole, it'll give the NOPD the weekend to decided how they want to play it. Or, we hold our own newser Monday morning, just blow their doors off."

"Are either her or Ashton actually _assigned_ to the robbery issue? If not, I'd rather make the case for angling her onto the case first during the meeting. If they play ball, then great. If not, we'll hit them from the flank on Ashton on Monday. We'll need two pieces prepared - a hit piece on Ashton and a fluff piece on Spinelli. Tie the community outreach bit with her if you can, I want Christine dropping her name at least 3 times in front of the press. The whole 'we need more like her' argument."

Sven hadn't been keeping notes this whole time, relying on his staff to keep up with the discussion, but he started ticking notes for himself to look into Detective Spinelli. He vaguely remembered the drug bust but not the maneuvers behind it. Vice wasn't exactly his top concern.

"A piece on Ashton should be easy enough, find whoever he's pissed on lately and get some quotes. If we don't get what we want today, let's get it in the hands of our people at the Times-Picayune and get ahead of any conservative support he may have. Be sure we paint him as bucking authority and a public menace, I don't think their readers are going to care as much about any criminals with black eyes.

"For Spinelli, I'd like to meet her actually." Sven thought a moment. "Yeah, get a me a meeting with her. Scratch that - let me know where I can find her, I don't want to tip this move to anyone before the meeting. And fuck it, let's run that hit piece no matter what happens. Let me know if we face any resistance and I'll pull strings."

"Pretty sure Spinelli is on the burglaries, she was on the news the other day," came the answer. "I'll make the call, set up a meeting. Ashton, if he's got a private hit list, someone's gotta talk. Let's scratch anyone from the Scorselli family, and the City Council. Art Berger over at Times-Picayune might know who else is a target. You want to meet with him?"

Sven shivered at the thought of trying to leverage the Scorselli's. _There are few truer evils in this world than these soulless syndicates, I'd rather give them as wide a berth as possible._ The Scorselli's have already made it clear that they didn't agree with Sven's economic revitalization efforts, and he's done his best to shy away from any direct altercations. Whatever pressure they've been putting on various local businesses, they've been kind enough to keep out of his line of sight - for now.

"OK perfect, that's half the battle won already then. Don't make a formal meeting with Spinelli, I want to scope her out first, make sure she's the poster child we're looking for. Find out where she is now and I'll 'bump' into her before Christine starts singing her praises. Prep two packages for her, one with Spinelli and one without, just in case.

"I'll call Art on the way, put some feelers out in case he doesn't want to cooperate. See if you can get me some dish for him in case I need a little quid pro quo."

"Gimme a moment with the police scanners, I'll have a location on Spinelli ASAP," Faren tells you.

"Here's what we have on Ashton," says a staffer, handing you a folder.

You leaf through the sheaf of pages. Ashton is a decent enough cop; he's just a prime candidate for an EEO lawsuit.

"Spinelli is working the burglaries, going to interview another victim," Faren tells you. Here's the address. Little old lady who doesn't trust banks. Lost several thousand she had tucked in a shoebox."

"OK great, send me the address, I'll catch her there. See if you can follow up with anyone who's submitted a complaint against him, or at least dox them so we can sick Art on it. Email me whatever you dig up, the juicier the leads the more likely we'll pique his interest."

Sven left City Hall and typed the little old lady's address into his GPS. As he drove, he dialed up Art's desk phone and plugged his bluetooth headset in his ear. Sven liked Art - he might be a sleazy journalist for a conservative fish rag, but he was _his_ sleazy journalist. Sven didn't make many friends, but he did form solid working relationships based on the premise of backscratching and favor trading.

Somehow conflated into some sinister machination practiced by hackers, the truth was that 'doxxing' was political SOP, known by different euphemisms throughout the decades. It was only when Richard M. Nixon's political cronies botched the break-in at the Watergate Apartments that the nation sat up and took note.

And the term had quickly been diluted to include the public release of any name-and-number data, as well as the prank phone calls and pizza orders, or the script kiddies who were easily cozened into conducting DDOS attacks.

"Times-Picayune," answered a nasal voice. "Berger."

"What do you know about Detective James Ashton?" you ask. Berger isn't one for cocktail party talk, unless he's actually at a cocktail party - and even then, he's like something out of Greek mythology, Argus eyes and ears, winnowing out political dirt as if he were panning for gold.

"Ashton, Ashton," Berger snorts. "Oh, yes. The King of Excessive Force. Why is he on your hit list, Merrick?"

Sven snorted in return, "Oh, you know, just trying to make New Orleans great again. Evidently some small time burglars have been doing laps around the NOPD and we aim to take advantage."

He didn't want Art sniffing too close to his own operations, and especially didn't want him connecting any dots between Spinelli and Ashton. The cat would be out of the bag after the press conference, but the last thing he needed was Art posting something on that would preempt Sven's plans.

"Speaking of hit lists, I heard he's got one of his own. I was wondering if you've happened upon it? Or, perhaps, are interested in opening Monday's news cycle by letting the good people of N'awlins know they're funding a personal vendetta with their tax dollars?"

He got an email alert, glancing at the push notification it looked like his staff had already passed him a first brush at people who've been slighted by Ashton in some way.

"What have you heard?" Berger asks, a standard enough opening gambit. Admit to nothing, go fishing.

And it's a well-stocked pond, that's for sure. Ashton was a beat cop before making detective, and noted for having a heavy hand. There's a list of repeat offenders (names and last-known addresses) - all misdemeanors - in his wake. A couple of grainy photos showing an officer slamming someone against the wall, a boot heel on a wrist - but poor enough that you can only guess at the officer's identity.

Sven didn't want to pull over to go through the list he had received in detail, and he also didn't care to play footsie with Art. If he were too eager it would trigger Art's bullshit-o-meter, but assuming there are at least a few good leads in there he should go for the bait.

He went ahead and forwarded the information his team had compiled to Art's inbox, going through an email anonymizer as a matter of course to scrub any record of his office's involvement. His team would know not to leave any fingerprints in the excel file or the image attachments either.

"Off the record of course, but I think someone just sent you a few interesting tidbits. An anonymous source in City Hall has voiced some serious concerns about Ashton's quixotic decisions on who the persons of interest are for these burglaries." Sven was flagrantly lying at this point, but it didn't matter. A lead was a lead, and if Ashton was half as bad as he was trying to get Art to paint him as, it was a safe assumption that his collection of usual suspects probably had nothing at all to do with silly things like evidence.

He also hoped the list included a few people in the force, or other local agencies, whom Ashton had burned bridges with. Nothing spells incompetence like the inability to work well with others.

"An anonymous source, riiiight," Art sneered.

"Ah, I love the smell of scandal in the morning," Berger quips. "You'll want to note that most of these people were actually convicted. Except ... yeah, his name's on the list. Kid named Robinet. Well, not really a kid anymore, but he was a thorn in Ashton's side as a juvenile."

"Robinet. Dad's a big-shot pastor, isn't he?"

"Ayup, that's him. Robinet, Senior," Berger chuckles. "Junior's nothing like his father."

"So are we talking 'runs with scissors' or 'doesn't play well with others'?"

"A little of both. Him and Ashton deserve each other."

Pastor Robinet was one of those community leaders with whom change didn't sit well. Sven hadn't really turned his attention to him yet - meaning he hadn't become a problem - but Christine's ran into him a few times at social functions and he had made it clear he was, at the very least, suspicious of an outsider coming in promising wealth and prosperity for the Common Man.

"Sounds like quite a tale. I can see the headline now, _Cop Quixote Stalks Son of a Preacher Man._ I'm sure it would just fly off the newsstands."

Sven made a mental note to have Faren look a little closer at this Robinet Junior. Right now he was just a convenient protagonist, but he might also be more... directly leveragable against Ashton in the long game. Especially if he'd been living under this kind of scrutiny and is still walking the streets.

Conservative and old-fashioned, in political speak, often meant _stubborn._ He'd seen the elder Robinet at Council meetings before, bringing the fervor of the pulpit to his political ambitions. It wasn't hard to imagine a child rebelling under that kind of unyielding authority, and why Junior might chafe at Ashton's attempts at remediation.

Your phone meeps with a text.

 _Spinelli heading out to coastline, dead body._

 _Dammit, I just got here too._ Sven had literally just pulled up at the address on his GPS before getting the text.

"Art, I gotta go. You should have everything you need."

"No guarantees, Sven," Art replied, who then abruptly hung up.

Sven emailed Faren to get him a more thorough dossier on Robinet's kid. He briefly considered asking the old lady some questions about her experience with Spinelli, but he'd probably end up sipping tea for hours and not getting anything useful. Sven had a bit of a soft spot for little old ladies, and was completely unable to bring his usual brusqueness to bear with them.

 _If there's a dead body, there's probably a cordon._ Sven started driving towards the coast, and dialed up the office on his bluetooth.

"Hey, I'm giving chase to Miss Spinelli, go through the scanners, see how close I can get before I hit a barricade. Also see how crowded it's getting over there, if it's swarming with cops I may have to wait it out, I need one-on-one time with her."

Sven's burner beeped as he was driving, so he started pulling over to give it his attention. It beeped again by the time he stopped the car.

Reading the texts, he replied _Guess there's a beach party. I'm OMW too, tracking a det named Spinelli._ He switched his Bluetooth to connect with the burner and made sure speech-to-text was ready if he needed it. He hadn't really played with the phone's features yet, but Twylla had loaded some impressive tools on it for them.

Sven got pretty close to the coast before he finally ran into a blockade manned by a few State Troopers, but it was still too far away for him to try to hoof it around them. When they signaled for him to stop, he rolled down his window and flipped out his government ID. Before they could say anything he coolly said, "Yes I know, there's a dead body over there. I'm from City Hall, we got word that this could concern us, please let me pass."

Sven was gambling that these State cops didn't really know much about the local politics and would take him at his word.

"City Hall?" asks a trooper. "Oh, great. Okay, okay. Captain's down by the body. You didn't happen to pass a coroner's van on the way out, did you?"

"No, but I wasn't looking for one," you reply. You wonder if it would be worth your time to query the troopers about the case, or be more effective to get a look for yourself.

He matched the trooper's change in posture and shifted to being much more congenial. "How's it looking down there? I didn't bring my blood-stomping boots with me. Also has a Detective Spinelli come by you by any chance?"

"It's pretty bad," says the trooper. "But it's pretty clear she was killed somewhere else, 'cause cutting out someone's heart should leave a lot more blood than that. Still ... you know. I mean, you could tell she was a pretty lady. Either someone really, really hated her, or we got a fucking capital-p psychopath in town, so I can see why the Mayor's all hot and bothered."

"Detective Spinelli? Oh, yeah, she got here about a half-hour ago, down at the crime scene," he adds.

 _Wait, her heart got cut out?_ Sebastian hadn't passed along that little detail. That definitely sounded like something on the scion side of things. So this is no mundane murder mystery after all. _And I didn't even come here to play Sherlock._

"OK, thanks Officer, hopefully they won't keep you standing out here for much longer." Sven drove onward to the beach and started scanning the area for Spinelli, referencing a picture his staff had passed on to him.

As you drive closer, you see an SUV with the recognizable emblazon of Stormwatch. He's conversing with a man in the green-and-khaki of the state troopers, and a woman wearing an NOPD windbreaker. Spinelli.

"Oh, great, another party guest," the Captain says. "Are you with the media? Hold up, there - we have an active crime scene."

 _Awww crap._

Sven quickly parked and approached the trooper, getting glared at the whole time. Glancing at the double bars on the man's shoulder he said, "Good morning Captain," and giving a brief nod to Spinelli, "Detective."

 _Time to see how sharp she is - and if we can use her. I only need a few minutes._

"No, I work for Councilwoman Porter. We heard there was an incident and wanted to get ahead of any... politically disadvantageous situations." Sven played at being overly anodyne, the same way City Hall intersected with NOPD officers. ((Using Social Chameleon))

"And good morning to you Sebastian, I didn't realize Stormwatch covered murders now," he said wryly, with a slight tick of an eyebrow to indicate he more or less knows what's going on.

Sebastian nodded to Sven. "Turns out the boys in blue don't have drones, underwater cameras, and trained divers. Seems like a budget issue," he called back jokingly. He turned back to the chief and said, "The team and I are going to plan out our shoot. Give us a shout when we're clear to go in or if you need any more help."

Back at the van, he turned to Diana, "Start getting a press release drafted for this, but don't release anything until you've cleared it with the troopers. See if we can get a group shot before they leave too."

"Already half-way done," she nodded, "I also made sure to get some photos of us setting up and Rob and Ryan on drone duty. Combined with some non-compromising footage from the underwater camera, I'd say we probably have a great episode for next season."

"Are we heading out soon?" Ryan asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

Sebastian shook his head, "Nah we're just on hold until they can clean up. I still want to get that Deepwater footage, just in case we the rest of this gets locked into evidence or something. Plus it is a damn good day for a swim."

"All right," Spinelli frowned. "What do we have, Captain? And where the hell is CSI? I can't do much of an investigation until the scene's been photographed."

"Just cleared the cordon," the Captain tells her. "Body is lying on its side. Business wear, blouse torn open for obvious reasons, no obvious defensive wounds."

He nods to the deputy standing guard over the tarp-covered body. The deputy schools his expression before peeling the yellow sheet back to reveal the body of Catherine Martinez. She's pretty much as the Captain described ... and yet, there's something odd. Each of you looks at the other as if to ask, _You feel it, too, don't you?_

The CSI technician hustles to join you, making his apologies to Spinelli and the Captain before getting started taking photographs of the crime scene, the position of the body, the wound, and the sparse handful of evidence markers. He also photographs the knife, laid against a ruler for an idea of its size.

Sven stepped back respectfully and let the CSI team do their job. As they all watched, with Spinelli more or less patiently waiting her turn, he went through his remaining texts on his burner, and noticed Sebastian already sent them photos of the crime scene. He tried to put the pieces together as best he could. ((Using Instant Investigator, Sven isn't aware he has this ability yet))

Leaning towards Spinelli, he said demurely, "So have you folks figured out that it's Catherine Martinez yet?" _Let's see how she reacts to that particular bombshell._

* * *

Sebastian let Sven handle the police. His burner buzzed and he pulled it out to see Twylla's message. _Meet at the hangar at 6pm, something is definitely wiggy on this case_ he sent out before tucking the phone away.

"New phone, Sebastian?" Diana's spoke quietly from right behind him. Sebastian turned to see her holding his normal phone in her hand and suspicion on her face. Before he could say anything she stepped in close and spoke softly so that nobody over heard, "You've been acting strange lately. Missing bar night, skipping out of group workouts to do your own thing. Then today you decide we should head to the beach and blunder on a murder scene which you then insist we help out on. Now you have a secret phone that you've been sending messages on all day. Give me one good reason I shouldn't take all this info to the cops right now."

He withered under her stern gaze for a moment before speaking. "I can't tell you all the details here. You wouldn't believe me and I don't have any good proof on me." She started to open her mouth to respond but he held up a hand. "I very recently learned something unusual about myself and met some other people who share that uncommonality. We use those phones to stay in-touch. Showing up here was just dumb luck or fate or something, but it is becoming increasingly clear it is relevant to our group."

She shook her head, "Not good enough. You're making it sound like a group of terrorists."

He sighed and then took on a confident stance. "I didn't have a parachute when I landed in the lake the day Ryan broke his arm." he said calmly.

The apparent change in subject caught her off guard, "What? Of course you did. No one can survive a fall like that without a chute."

"I can. And there are other people in this group with equally unusual talents. We are meeting at my private hanger tonight at six to discuss what we found out today. There are 4 of us. Myself, Sven," Sebastian nodded at the city hall official talking with the police, "Twylla, and a fortune teller named Kenari. Come tonight and I'll spill the whole truth. Hell bring the whole team. They might as well know."

* * *

"Catherine Martinez?" Spinelli asks. "Do you know the victim, Mr. Merrick? Because we obviously haven't run fingerprints or dentals on her."

You stall for time by studying the dead body ...

... and somehow, you know that she was murdered elsewhere, the body dragged out here for disposal. She was unconscious at the time of death, so there won't be any defensive wounds or DNA under her fingernails.

"Is that a 'no,' Mr. Merrick?" Spinelli asks.

Your head is still reeling from the assessment of the crime scene. You know where the person stood in order to be able to throw the knife into the Gulf. You know where he came from, and the direction he left, because of the horse manure lying in the scrub brush and Pampas grass.

You _know_ it.

It's not an educated guess. You'd wager good money on your read being an accurate one - but you don't have any forensics to back it up, not even a Sherlockian bit of deductive reasoning.

Sven snapped himself out of his reverie before Spinelli started adding him to her list of suspects, keeping his expression neutral. "You don't need fingerprints when you're looking at her face. And it's my job to recognize people." Of course, Sven didn't know who the hell Catherine Martinez even _was,_ all he had was the name Twylla had texted earlier. And even that could easily have been a guess.

 _What the fuck was that? Another super power or whatever? Investigating live crime scenes didn't fall in Christine's training regimen._

"So Detective Spinelli, Miss Porter is going to be speaking with your Chief this afternoon. I understand you're heading up the investigation into the recent rash of robberies, are you here in connection with the case? Or are they just having a hard time finding competent detectives to cover unexpected murders?"

He put a little emphasis on the word 'competent.' He wasn't quite sure what he was fishing for - would she fall in behind the thin blue line and bark at this nosy outsider? Would she bemoan budget issues? He didn't want to obliquely throw Ashton's name at her but he did want to see where her loyalties lay.

"On the whole, I'd rather be in Philadelphia," Spinelli quipped. "But when the FBI calls the Chief, and the Chief calls yours truly, it doesn't matter what I had planned to investigate or where. I haul my butt out to the beach to see what has the Feebies all hot and bothered."

"The robberies are still on my desk, of course, but if it comes to chasing a killer and chasing a burglar, well ..."

 _The FBI is involved? This is getting juicier and juicier._

"How much of it is a resource problem? Miss Porter has been very concerned with fixing the NOPD budget, from new technologies to attracting more... qualified personnel into the force. Anything I can take back to her for you?"

"Monies directed towards updating our crime lab would go a long way," Spinelli says. "It's not a manpower issue, or even boots-on-the-ground, but how much time it takes to process evidence. It's not like it is on television. Pretty much everyone in the Department and in City Hall knows this, but it's always treated as a cops-on-the-beat issue."

Sven nodded his head. The issues they take to the court of public opinion are hyper-simplified, after all if it doesn't fit in a Tweet then no one will care. But increasing their forensic resources, especially for seemingly simple things like rape kits, was definitely one of their concerns. _I think we've found our poster girl._

"Absolutely, we'll be sure to bring that up today. Here, take my card. Would it be okay with you if I had some of my staff do a more thorough talk with you? I think we could use some further valuable insight from a Detective's perspective." Sven handed her his card, and made a note to ensure that crime labs were addressed in today's meeting as promised. He hoped to form a closer relationship between Spinelli and his office.

"Ms. Delacroix?" asked the secretary.

Twylla rose from the lobby sofa. She'd been waiting for over thirty minutes, during which she'd begun scanning the building's networks on her tablet. She had two intrusion attempts running; it was doubtful they would be productive, but determined hackers could take the most insignificant of exploits and leverage them into something much bigger.

"I'm sorry, Ms. Delacroix," the secretary said. "Ms. Martinez won't be able to meet with you this morning. I'm sorry. I think she's come down with the crud."

 _It'd have been nice to know that before I dragged myself out of bed at 5AM,_ Twylla thought.

"Well, I hope it's nothing serious. Have Catherine call our office to reschedule when she's feeling better," Twylla told the secretary.  
She stepped into the outer lobby, a buffer zone where one could continue a phone conversation while not being on the sidewalk or in the lobby, proper.

"Martinez cancelled," she told her own secretary. "That blows my morning. I'm going to find some coffee and do some coding."

"Okay, boss."

"All right, the consultant from Delta Tech is gone. Where's Kate?" asked the secretary.

"She's missing," said Trey Panelli, the CEO ... and Cate's fiance. "I don't know where she is. Doesn't answer her home phone, her cell rolls right to voicemail, and she's not answering texts."

"You don't have a key?"

"No. Besides, the wedding is in two months," Trey pointed out. "Hold my calls. I'm calling the police."

Twylla climbed into her old El Camino and buckled in, running over the locations of nearby coffee shops in her mind. As she recalled, there was a little, family run shop that did custom blends not far from here. Hopefully, they also have wi-fi. If not...eh. No big deal. She could afford to steal 15 minutes to enjoy a cup of joe.

 _The Good Earth_ was the name of the boutique coffee shop. Well, it wasn't frou-frou enough to be a _boutique._ It was a small-scale roastery that got its start with the blossoming of the farm-to-table movement. A brick oven and a simple motorized reservoir allowed the owner to produce small batches and unique flavors. Add a handful of tables, pastries from a local bakery, and you had a hidden treasure that held its own against landmarks like Cafe du Monde.

"Do you have Wi-Fi?" she asked the server.

"I'm sorry, we don't. I've asked Dad about it several times, but he's worried about security, I guess."

"No worries," Twylla replied with a smile. "Completely understandable. And, it gives me an excuse to unplug for a few minutes."

Not that Twylla was ever truly unplugged. Just because she can't (legitimately) connect to the work servers doesn't mean they can't still get her on the phone. If she really wanted, there are plenty of nearby unlocked wi-fi signals she could use. And, she had coding that she could be working on from her laptop's hard drive. But...pfft! Coffee, now. Code, later. She had all day ahead of her for work.

She looks over the menu and finally settles on something with "chocolatey" in the description, "That sounds delicious!"

Part chocolate, part smooth Colombian roast, all delicious. And it was dark chocolate, not sugary milk chocolate. It made the steaming mug feel like a sustaining beverage, not a child filching a sweet treat before dinner.

And, on cue, her phone rings.

"Twylla! Holy shit, you're not gonna believe this," one of the junior techs says. "You know how we always run a spider on clients? We just got a hit on Catherine Martinez. She's gone missing!"

"Huhwhat? Yeah, her secretary said she had the flu or something."

"No, I mean missing-missing. _Without a Trace_ missing," the tech continued. "Fiance called the FBI, not the locals. I guess you can do that when you're a millionaire."

"I wonder if we'll get a call back, in this case," the junior tech wonders. "Do you think they'll want someone to come in and do some tracers to try and figure out what she was up to before she disappeared?"

"Probably not. If they are calling in the FBI, they have their own people and resources for that sort of thing," Twylla says thoughtfully. "More than likely, we'll be dumped by the wayside."

 _But, why would the FBI care?_ she wonders. _Sure, it's their job to investigate things, but why would they agree to this instead of turning things over to the local authorities as a missing person case? Not that I would want to turn anything over to these yahoos...but the FBI might not know what kind of assholes we have, here._

Twylla decides that this might be something worth watching. It might be something, it might not. As sad as it is, people do go missing and this might be just another case of someone pissing the wrong person off or being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Who knows? Can't hurt to put some feelers out, though.

"Thanks for the heads up, Scott," Twylla says. "I'll keep an ear to the ground. Also, have Kellie let me know if any new calls come in, this morning. Since the cancellation, I'm killing time doing miscellaneous coding until my next appointment."

"Will do!"

"Thanks, man," Twylla hangs up and immediately pulls out her laptop. She flips it on and looks for a local, unprotected wi-fi signal. Sure enough, there is a signal from a machine imaginatively named "SpazMonkey."

She connects up and starts setting up searches/watches for Catherine Martinez.

 _Do people still do the whole kidnap-and-ransom thing?_ Twylla thought as she savored another sip of her coffee. Establishing and maintaining a zero digital footprint was a challenge even for people like her. She didn't think it would be possible for a mere kidnapper to hide their tracks for long.

Catherine Martinez, IT queen for _Socialize!_ a social media startup in newly-refurbished digs. Twylla certainly wouldn't object to something like that for Delta's storefront, but there was a certain charm to the loft. No cubicles; people used good headphones if they needed to isolate.  
 _Socialize!_ was the brain child of Trey Petrelli. It was a social network built for mobile platforms, a novel enough idea, but it still had the same vulnerabilities as any social media outlet, the struggle to monetize client data while keeping it secure.  
Ah, there's the link. Petrelli's father was a programmer for a non-descript firm in Virginia, which meant he worked for some alphabet soup agency. Getting the FBI involved was a favor, then ...

"Huh," Twylla sips her coffee and mentally shrugs. She doesn't see how it has any real bearing on herself or the possible coming battle. Still, she puts a mental tab on the matter. _Let's see what happens in the next few days. It might be something worth mentioning to the others._

Setting her coffee down, she turns her attention back to work. A client had asked for a custom program a couple of days ago, and this seems like the perfect time to knock it out. She slips her headphones on, sets her phone to vibrate and cranks up the music as she sets to creating.

"Can I get you a refill?" asks the server.

You blink, your thoughts slightly disjointed. "Um, yeah," you say. Your MP3 player has gone silent, the playlist you'd triggered long since finished. And then you look at the screen. It's glorious, and it's a bit frightening. The screen is filled with code, procedures and functions and calls flowing in elegant, precise order. But it's more than good code; it's pure, elemental code, as if the idea had burst from your head like Athena in her full and complete power. All within three hours of work. And you _know_ it's solid code, that it will compile without error. You just have no real idea how you did it.

Twylla slowly pulls her headphones off, letting them slide down and dangle around her neck. Leaning back in her seat, she gazes at the code in wonder. She's done plenty of programming since her father's visit, but this is the first time _this_ has happened. It's...it's beautiful! She makes a small, soft sound somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

 _How did I do this? How do I do it, again?_ she thinks in amazement.

She's not sure how she slid into whatever mindset it took to create this code but she definitely wants to do it more! However, as she glances at the clock, she realizes that she's been sitting in this cafe a long time and has no real recollection of anything that happened around her.

 _Oh, crap...that could be dangerous,_ she thinks. _And, aw geez...I've been sitting in this spot forever, taking up room in the cafe...oh, gawd. I am an inconsiderate doof._

Twylla quickly closes her laptop and puts it away. She gathers her things and bustles up to the counter with an apologetic smiles, "I'm so sorry! I completely lost track of time while I was working. Ummmm...here...let me get a few cups of coffee and couple of bags of blends."

Twylla figures that giving the owners a bit more business is the least she can do for loitering in their shop all morning. She orders a variety of flavors to take back to the people at Delta Tech, along with a couple of bags for later.

"Beware of Geeks bearing gifts!" you declare, entering the office.

"M'yeh, coffee doesn't count," Scott says, easing the tray from your hands. "Got it."

He sets the tray on the general purpose table - meetings, pizza, boardgames - and the cups are quickly snatched up by the others. You place the bags of freshly roasted and ground coffee near the machine.

"Good Earth?" Kellie asks. "Is that where you've been hiding all morning?"

You are again reminded that you were somewhere else, mentally. You doubt you'd have noticed that your phone rang, and the glowing tally showing several voice-mails confirms that suspicion.

"I was ... working on the Grayson account," you say. "Got caught up in coding, but it's done."

"Done? As in _done_? I thought there were enough hoops to jump through that it'd take us most of the next two weeks."

"Um, yeah. I still have to compile and debug, but ..."

 _Debug,_ a corner of your mind scoffs.

"Cool," Kellie says. She's an organizational wizard, but doesn't think and breath code like other core staffers. And, if you can riddle out how you did it, none of _them_ can code like you can.

"So, what did I miss? What's the word, hummingbird?" Twylla grins at Kellie, plopping down behind her computer and opening her laptop. She begins the process of moving the Grayson code over to the company server so that it can be properly compiled, debugged and processed before it is turned over to the client. Twylla knows that it'll run flawlessly, but procedures have to be followed.

"Well, I called to see about rescheduling the _Socialize!_ appointment, but there's a 'closed until further notice' recording on their phones, and a similar auto-response to emails. Network is running, no outages or blackouts anywhere in the region," Kellie said. "Something's funky. Maybe someone was playing loosey-goosey with their stock?"

"I don't know exactly what's up," Twylla says, her tone turning more serious. "All I know is that Catherine Martinez, their IT person, has gone missing. Scott clued me in, earlier. Sounds like Petrelli is pulling in a favor from the FBI to have them search for her."

"Who knows what's up?" she shakes her head and glances at her screen, monitoring copy progress from the laptop. "She's the IT head of a social media company. I imagine there's a lot of opportunity to snag personal info in that position. Maybe she snooped where she shouldn't have?"

The burner phone is Twylla's purse lets out a plaintive beep from where it is buried in her massive purse. Fortunately, Kellie didn't seem to notice. She was in the middle of talking.

"...certainly hope it's not something like that! Maybe she found true love with some hot, Latino guy and made a break for Vegas, you know?" Kellie says.

"Hot Latino guy certainly would be preferable to pissing off someone like the mob," Twylla agrees with a smile. "Let's hope for the best."

"Back in a sec..." Twylla stands and picks up her purse, headed for the bathroom. Kellie pays it no mind, figuring that Twylla simply needs to change her pad. That's why most women lug their purses to the bathroom.

Once alone, she pulls out the phone and reads the message there. _Aw, shit..._ A tiny knot of dread forms in her stomach.

 _Probably Catherine Martinez. Went missing recently. Head of Socialize! Was scheduled to run tests for them this AM. Was cancelled,_ Twylla types in reply.

 _Welp_ Twylla places the phone back in her purse and thinks. _Perhaps this is something that bears more investigating. But, it'll have to wait until I'm on my own equipment. Don't want to go snooping, maybe futz up and get Delta in trouble._

She exits the bathroom and goes back out, ready to grab some lunch and tackle the rest of today's work. Tonight will be the time for busting into _Socialize!_ 's system and seeing what was going on...

"I'll keep the spiders running," Kellie tells you. "Hope this doesn't mean the contract is going south."

"Well, if they went bankrupt, we'll be on the creditors list," you tell her. "Fraud, any other kind of financial hijinks, we're SOL." _At least until I find their bank in the Grand Caymans._

Hearing the burner beep again, Twylla turns to Kellie and says, "I'm going to head home to grab some lunch and take care of Roscoe. If anything pops up while I'm away, you can catch me there."

"Have you found a new place, yet?" Kellie asks curiously. "How much longer do you think you can keep the big lug hidden?"

"Not yet. I have my eye on a couple of places that have nice yards but they're asking a little more than I can afford. I'm hoping to see the price drop, at some point...and it better be quick," Twylla laughs and shakes her head. "Roscoe is a good dog, but he's huge. There's no stealthily sneaking him out to potty. Thank goodness he's quiet and Mrs. Cho likes him."

Twylla's elderly neighbor, Mrs. Cho, was always at the apartments tending to her flowers or sitting out on her stoop in the sunlight. There was no hiding him from her. But, Roscoe is a big, gentle dog who adores the old lady, as she always sneaks him treats. Thankfully, she thinks Roscoe is the cat's pajamas, too.

"Alright! Just...you know...answer your phone, this time," Kellie teases.

"I will, I will! I promise," Twylla laughs and waves as she heads out to the old Camino. Once in the driver's seat, she checks the burner, again.

 _Ugh. Okay, I can't wait on this,_ she thinks. _I need to check things out before the Feds come in and start locking everything down, which should be soon. I'm going to have to hack in during lunch..._

Thus, Twylla makes her way home, prepared to make a netrun as soon as she can.

"Ruffro," opines Roscoe. He peers at the open door, but apparently knows better than to go barreling down the hallway.

You make yourself a sandwich and settle down at your 'office,' the suite of computers and not-quite legal modifications that comprise your hacking array. You spend twenty minutes bouncing between other systems to hide your actual IP address, and when you finally orient your efforts towards _Socialize's_ computers, it's from a non-profit community garden in San Francisco ...

"Alrighty, Ms. Martinez...let's see what's been going on in your life," Twylla mutters as she starts making her way into the _Socialize!_ systems.

First things first. Hit the emails. She's not going to have time to read everything, so she'll just pull it all down to her hard drive for later perusal. Even if there is nothing too crucial in the work communications, it should give her personal addresses that she can work with, later. Who doesn't forward things to themselves at home or email back and forth with family and friends?

Next, will be Catherine's personal computer. She's familiar enough with the inner logistics of computers to recognize when a folder is special and when it's just another system folder. Oh, she's sure to grab a few that have nothing at all of interest. After all, people can name their folders whatever they want and some people are better at choosing names than others. The more clever of them know to set their folders as invisible and to lock them. And, those, of course, are ones that Twylla finds _very interesting._

And, then there are finances. Oh ho! Finances are always where people screw around. Cooking the books, maybe a little embezzlement...tax evasion...you name it. Any of those things would be a reason to send turn Catherine into shark bait. Unfortunately, while Twylla is a computer wizard, she's not quite up to speed on all the financial magic. Oh, she can do the math easily, but laws and juggling loopholes would be something she may have to get someone else to look into.

There's a string of emails from the CEO - Martinez' fiance - asking where she is, and what he did to piss her off. So he's not likely to be a victim of the Ashley Madison hack, though a smile to the cutie in the secretarial pool at the wrong time might send the wrong message to my One and Only.

Finance? Grab it, comb through it later.

It's when you're examining the system's layout that your telltales begin _kronking_ at you. Not the usual penny-ante counterintrusion stuff, but government-level pave-the-jungle black ice. Someone else has been here, or _Socialize!_ is the kind of set-up conspiracy theorists wet their pants over. The company could be in bed with the government, even selling user data to the NSA. A valuable resource that some fairy godsenator wants protected.

You glance at the trace-back. Whoever it is is still tracing the line from the non-profit to a public library in San Diego ... though the further they get, the faster they'll burn through the line of bounces and redirects.

You've got perhaps five minutes if you push it to the last second.

 _Shit_ Twylla thinks. _Time to smash and grab. Don't have time for finesse._

Twylla begins soaring through folders, looking for anything that looks even vaguely interesting, especially now that she knows the government is interested in _Socialize!_ beyond Catherine's disappearance. If Petrelli just called in the Feds, they worked awful fast...No, no. This was probably here before the death.

She licks her lips, her heart beating faster as she types and clicks, sorting as quickly as she can. _I can remember it. If I see it, I can remember it. I just need to see this stuff..._ Her eyes flicker across the screen madly, taking it all in.

At this point, if a folder looks interesting, she pulls it down. She knows she doesn't have time to be picky.

You check for invisible folders and find several, copying them along with the financials. And then you meticulously back out of the system before killing your line. The trace effort was still bouncing around the public utilities in Idaho, but no sense taking any chances. Both the non-profit and the utility company were off-limits for now. No sense giving the federales a head start on her next run.

Financials. Hell, all you really know is how to stash ill-gotten gains in a Cayman Islands account, and how many zeroes are in a million. Forensic accounting is not your forte. You'll have to ask around.

The invisible folders include a code library - what looks to be the bare bones of the _Socialize!_ front end; and a set of user profiles and an amalgam of data, with no clear thread linking any of them together.

"Ruroof!" Roscoe interjects. He's tall enough to rest his head on your desk, and a cold nose bumps at your hand.

"I'm _sure_ you have food, you big lummox," you chide.

"Ruroof!" he barks again. Another nudge.

The pointer just happens to be resting on the second folder, labelled _vastagos._

At first, it didn't seem odd that a woman with a Hispanic surname would label files in Spanish. But it's easy enough to fire up a translation algorithm and get ...

Oh, shit.

Vastagos. _Scions._

"Good boy, Roscoe," Twylla mutters softly, her hand going his head and giving him a good scratching. "You're getting your own roast beef sub, tonight."

She leans over and kisses the top of his furry head before opening the Scions folder to see what it contains.

There are scholarly documents that appear to be research about Scions. Of course, while you _are_ one, you don't have to be a lab rat to know this is largely guess work and anecdotal in nature, as if someone were looking for the needle-in-a-haystack. Accounts of unexpected good fortune, of superior strength and skill, or outcomes that cannot be discounted as mere chance are graded by likelihood and even stab-in-the-dark guesses at affiliation.

The other folder contains a long list of names, matched with their _Socialize!_ profiles. Someone is looking for the children of the gods, and you're cynical enough to suspect it's not so they can chat them up on social media and seek enlightenment...

Twylla frowns, reading through the lists of names, seeing if there are any that she recognizes. She also looks at the time-stamps on everything pertaining to scions, trying to get a rough idea of how long this search has been going on.

As you read through the list, the earliest time stamp you can find is six months before _Socialize!_ was officially launched. But, it's possible the underlying framework was called something else, just as the monstrosity that became America! Online was once Apple Link Personal Edition.  
The list of names, however, is both daunting and largely meaningless. You can do a quick text search to see if ...

Oh.

_Delacroix, Twylla Evangeline_

Automatically, you search for the names of the rest of your group and, not surprisingly, find some of the others. Sometimes it's just a name and address. Sometimes there's a photo and assorted news clippings. But while Kenari's name isn't on the list, her father and brothers are. Each brother has apparently been the subject of recent surveillance, and there are _NEGATIVE_ labels appended to each of their names.  
You broaden your search, looking for anyone within New Orleans, and turn up a woman named Gabrielle Martine and a Francis Robinet, both with addresses and phones. Robinet's dossier also mentions a possible link to organized crime.

Twylla pulls out the burner phone and quickly texts the others, _We need to meet, ASAP. Got info._

Twylla reads Sebastian's message and nods to herself. 6PM. Not a problem. Her work day is usually done by then unless some emergency rears its ugly head. In the meantime...

Twylla calls the office and gets Kellie on the phone, "Hey! I need to scootch for the afternoon. The ol' Camino is acting up. I'm going to take it in to the garage. If anything major comes up, I can always work from home."

"You got it," Kellie replies. "Hell, I don't think anyone will say anything about it, today. Scott's been compiling that last program you brought in and it is golden. If Swanson gets his knickers in a twist, we'll point him to that."

"Thanks! I'll see you tomorrow," Twylla smiles and hangs up the phone. She turns her attention back to her own computer.

"So, the Feds are all up in this, then? Well, looks like I need to do a little embellishing, in case I need to crack _Socialize_ , again," Twylla mutters softly as she pulls up a screen to start coding.

She begins my adding a subroutine to her normal connection jumps, a program that will watch for the tracer. Once they hit Computer A (or whatever she designates as the point along her connections) it will start running and redirect the trace to _another_ set of computers, sitting in an infinite loop off her normal line.

She's not sure if her idea will work but, it might be able to buy her some time. Certainly, once the Feds see the trace looping around to a computer that they have already visited, they will know what is up and back out of the loop. But, all she wants from the program is a few extra, precious minutes to work with...

* * *

 _Elsewhere in New Orleans..._

Unlike some of the other actors, Tommy didn't need a caffeine kickstart to his day. Instead, the discipline of years of martial arts practice made rising early and completing several katas almost inconsequential. Thus, here he was by the makeup trailer, practicing the upcoming fight scene. He wasn't just a stunt double; his lucky number had been drawn. He was the arch-nemesis for the hero of a police drama set in New Orleans, a recurring role that was entering its second season. His character was a smuggler, a Triad kingpin, who dealt in weapons and drugs, as well as backing the efforts of hackers looking to compromise the American government.

"Tommy!" called out one of the makeup artists. "Ready for you."

Tommy finished the last two beats of the fight sequence, then waved to show he'd heard. He wiped his face off with a towel and went to the trailer. At least this wasn't an alien-of-the-week gig where he had to wear facial prosthetics and costumes that weren't designed for any form of martial arts. Twenty minutes in the chair, then fifteen in wardrobe, and he'd be camera-ready.

Tommy makes his way towards the makeup trailer, his step picking up a bit more swagger as he starts getting into the head of this particular character - one of the movers and shakers, no mere Red Pole but a 438, second only the Mountain Master himself. He should have some swagger. (Breaking into the Axe Gang dance was pure Tommy, though - even if the mindset was right, this isn't the sort of show where serious gangsters have dance numbers.)

He reaches the trailer and steps in with a grin. "Keisha! I'm sorry you got the job of trying to make this mug beautiful today," he says to his assigned makeup person (he makes it a point to know the crew's names) as he takes a seat. "We're just doing the peekaboo tattoos today, right?"

"No, some blue pages were circulated this morning," Keisha tells you. "Forearms. You roll up your sleeves before the fight."

You nod and slip out of your shirt. Keisha stipples the edge of a stencil with some Skin-Tite, then presses the stencil against your skin. A stylized Tiger and Dragon will be airbrushed onto your forearms - not the traditional Shaolin designs, but more aggressive and feral.

There's nothing else to be done but sit back and relax. You close your eyes and lose yourself in the stillness ...

 **GONG**

Goddamn, that's loud. Not 'rap music in the quiet neighborhood' loud. More like 'I'm gonna take that leaf blower and shove it up your ass' loud. So much for a quiet respite before having to be on-point all morning. The other stuntmen seemed to take their pace from you.  
You open your eyes slowly, just to make sure it's not someone pranking you into leaping out of the chair and into a bucket of water or tripping over a garden gnome.  
But you're not in the trailer.

You're in a mist-filled clearing, sitting in a stone chair amid a ring of trees. Opposite you, there is a helmeted monk silently going through a martial kata ...

Tommy gets up out of the chair, working his jaw a bit to get his ears to pop from the gong, and takes in his surroundings.

Since the monk seems to be the only one around, Tommy starts by talking to them. "Excuse me," he asks. "Not to be rude or disrespectful, but is this spiritual journey or whatever going to take long in real time? Because I've got to be on set in less than an hour."

"Tch. Mortals, always in a rush. Rush, rush, rush," chides the monk. He turns and you see a somewhat wizened and pinched face, dark eyes looking you up and down. "Rush to be born, rush to grow up, rush to work themselves to death, rush to die. But you ... you are different, hmm? You feel it, but do not understand it, yes?"

The monk cackles and does several, surprisingly quick cartwheels that brings him right in front of you. And it isn't an old man who regards you, but ... well, he looks like a monkey. Right down to the tail that flicks out from under his robes.

"Sun Wu-Kong am I, and my son you are," he says. "Show me what you know."

The blow catches you across the face. Sun Wu-Kong laughs. "Aiya! You must do better than that, _leuhn-juhn*_ "

 _(Leuhn-juhn - Cantonese for clumsy.)_.

Tommy decides that lucid dreaming is highly overrated as he gets rocked back from the Monkey King's first strike. "Clumsy, am I?" he retorts, attacking as he parries the next blow in classic Jeet Kune Do style - he's good, and he knows it, but he's fairly confident trying to stop-hit here would be pushing things a bit too far. "So who's fault is that, oh Great Sage, Equal of Heaven? If I'm your son, why wasn't I raised on the Mountain of Flowers and Fruit, or at least by monks or something?"

He does his best to seize and control the initiative of the fight, aware that any ground he gets is being given to him by his legendary opponent and somewhat irked by that. "Oh, something we need to be clear on - I may be your son, but I already have a dad, and you're not it."

"How do you know?" Wu-Kong says, wagging a finger at you. He waves a hand before his face, and it is your father looking back at you. Except your real father doesn't have a monkey's tail bobbing about behind him. The caricature is both amusing and somewhat offensive, as it captures some of your father's mannerisms in exaggerated fashion.

You meet a renewed flurry of blows with a series of fluid, almost effortless blocks.

"Better!" Wu-Kong laughs. "Faster!"

He continues to put you through your paces. You feel a euphoria that hasn't been there for some time. Your stunt work is challenging, but not _challenging._ This is more like riding on the razor's edge, the buzz of the Olympic trials you'd gone for several years back ...

"The tail, for one," Tommy says, grinning almost despite himself at the joy in this fight. "Also, you'd have been a lot more enthusiastic when I got into the martial arts than he was." He takes a step back, opening up the space to draw an attack, ready to strike at the opening that will provide - the Intercepting Fist that Bruce Lee named his philosophy of fighting after.

Part of Tommy knows this is insane - he's fighting Sun Wukong, for Pete's sake, who basically kicked people's ass until they made him a god to get him to stop - but then, this is a dream, right? And even if it's not, why not go all out? The worst that seems likely to happen is that he'll lose to the Monkey King, and frankly, that's not a bad club to be in when it comes to fighting. So when that momentary opening, that moment when the opponent is fully committed to the attack comes, he strikes.

WuKong mirrors your movement, taking a step back. The gambit dissolves, and he bows.

"A bold move, but predictable," he says. "How are you with the _bo_?"

You're not sure where he pulls the two fighting staves with, but you're not about to stand there like a dope while a legendary figure beats you silly with a pole ...

Tommy snatches the staff out of the air, spinning it around his neck before grounding one end to bow in the traditional salute. "I've done more with the _jian_ and _dao_ , but I can get by," he says, and then launches into the offensive, kicking the end of his staff up from the ground as he pivots into his first strike.

This isn't a fight he can even hope to win, but it's not about winning or losing at this point, is it? It's about showing (and/or seeing) just what he can do, he's realizing, and if there's one thing for sure, it's that Tommy's never been one to hold back when it comes to testing his limits.

You begin feeling a dancing-on-the-razor's-edge buzz as WuKong pushes you to the limits of your ability, and beyond. Neither of you are keeping score, your staves twirling and slicing through the air. The Monkey King is laughing, and you realize that you are, too ...

"Hey! Tommy, hold still!" Keisha chides you. "Almost done."

"Sorry," you mumble distractedly. Damn. Had it been a dream? You're back in the makeup trailer, with only minutes having passed. And, yet, you can still smell the mulch of the forest floor, feel the chill of cold, mountain air.

Keisha gently peels the stencil away, revealing a snarling tiger stalking down along your arm. The coils of the Dragon steal around the other. Just seeing the simulated tattoos puts you more in touch with your character and his history. You know that as you rise from the chair, your walk has changed slightly, as has the set of your jaw.

"Live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse," Keisha teases. "I am _so_ getting a technical award for makeup this season."

You step out the door ...

... and find yourself launching into a somersault, up and over the staff cutting through the air, then spinning around the haft of your own staff as you plant it, but your feet barely brush the ground before you are dancing up a staircase of swirling leaves ...

Tommy falls out of character as he leaps skyward. The Dragon of New Orleans is many things, but (unlike, apparently, the actor playing him) he's not a freaking _wuxia hero!_

He lands on a rooftop, staff at the ready (and where had that come from, anyway?) and looking for his attacker. "This is all great," he says, assuming it's Sun Wukong again, "but I'm serious about having to be on set. Some of us know how to honor our obligations without having a magic crown stuck on our heads."

"No less important is this," WuKong cackles. "I do not give gifts on a whim. If you wish to be nothing more than mortal, even a successful TV star, I can arrange that. Or, you can see this through and be something more."

There is another exchange of blows, but even with your concerns about call times and upcoming scenes, you find yourself crossing the line between human excellence and the fanciful world of _wuxia_. The two of you are dancing on falling leaves, balancing on the ends of branches, sliding across water without breaking the surface.

"Yes! Much better!" WuKong crows. "I am satisfied. If you choose to accept, speak to Yue Fei! But whether you walk through this door or turn away, it is a choice that comes but once. Consider carefully!"

And you are back in the real world, just coming down the last step of the trailer ...

The Monkey King, of all people, advising him to consider carefully? Tommy laughs. "I can give you my answer now," he says. "And anyway, I don't know any Yue-"

And then he's back outside the trailer. "...Fei?" he finishes to the apparently sans-Sun Wukong air, before someone starts shouting at him to get his butt to wardrobe. He hurries off, making a mental note (underlined 3 times in red) to figure out who the hell Yue Fei is. Tommy went into show business because he wanted to do more than just teach the next generation kung fu and tai chi, and there weren't many other options. There was never any chance he'd turn this down.


	5. Argus Eyes and Absent Hearts

(Tommy - On Set)

"And ... ACTION!"

Tommy sprinted across a narrow avenue between stacks of crates. Several uniformed officers opened fire, their shots striking crates and columns, but not the crime lord.

"Hold your fire!" shouted the hero of the piece. Their characters had their history; Tommy's villain had slain the detective's fiancee two nights before their wedding, a gory spectacle to 'send a message.' Prior episodes had hinted at something more than a professional rivalry, but the writers hadn't been forthcoming with the full story.

The actor was the ruggedly handsome type, voted People Magazine's sexiest newcomer the previous year (Tommy was still in the running among the 50 Sexiest Men issue) , and expected to score another Emmy come awards season.

"You've got nowhere to go, Xiao. Give it up."

"It is not as simple as that, Detective. It never has been," you reply. The dialogue is a bit stilted, but the fight scene that would shortly ensue would keep detractors quiet for the next two weeks ...

"You brought this on yourself, and you know it," the gangster says, smiling a mirthless smile. "But then, you always were a cocky gwailou bastard, thinking the rules don't apply to you, weren't you?"

Xiao starts undoing his cuffs as he continues. "You don't even recognize me, do you, _Little Falcon_? You don't remember your brother, Little Dragon, the one who payed the price for you to leave the temple that day with your life?" He rolls up one sleeve, revealing the snarling tiger tattooed there, reveling in the shocked look on the detective's face.

The second sleeve rolled up, the feral tiger and dark dragon revealed, Xiao takes a stance. "I paid the price for you to walk away, and you chose to come back. So now I have the duty and pleasure of making right that mistake of mercy!"

And with that, the fight scene commences.

Your former brother strikes a warrior-ready pose. His form has not suffered from secular life, nor has his speed ...

It is, of course, Hollywood artifice. Block. A flurry of kicks and near hits. A brief hold as The Detective gives a minute shake of his head. This is a path neither character can turn away from ...

"I never asked for this," the Detective says.

"You knew they would send me," you say. "You must answer to the Master, or everything you value will be taken away from you, ending with your life."

"So you're just a pawn of Master Baht?"

"I am his adoptive son, as you once were. I -"

You hesitate, not because the script calls for it, but because there's something that is wildly out of place. A tall figure, a Mandarin out of some Chinese opera, is standing off camera, frowning. You know it's not some weird plot twist to bring Master Baht into the game, because he's been cast and shown in flashbacks that are now gaining added import, since we know the two young novitiates are Xiao and Detective Corveau ...

Tommy pulls himself back into character - if that's Yue Fei, he can wait till they get the scene in the can, and if not, well, they can still wait.

"...I will be the next Master of Wudan Mountain, with all that comes with that. But you, Little Falcon, will be dead, another lesson for those who might think to betray us!"

There's a heartbeat, a space in which years of pent-up emotion could be expressed in words, but, just as quickly, it is gone, and there is only two men who once called each other brother ...

Falcon dodges the first flurry of blows. You can tell it's not because he's biding his time to study your style (admittedly different from that of two novitates just delving into the traditions), but because he hasn't quite come to grips with his situation, and the past that has overtaken his present.

"Tingzhi, Xiao Lung," he pleads again. _Stop.  
_  
"Too late for that."

As you delve into the fight, even as rehearsed as it is, you feel the power flow through your veins, the exhilaration of the fight. There's a moment where your character is supposed to twist out of the way to dodge a blow, but the move becomes something much more as you slide into the move and then dash up the side of three shipping containers ...

"Cut! What the holy hell was THAT?" shouts the director. "Freakin' fabulous! Oh, baby, that was pure gold!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I can write that in, gimme a moment," the writer is babbling. "Oh, yeah."

"Damn. What did they put in _your_ coffee?" Falcon asks.

"Years of training, natural talent, and the alignment of the stars," Tommy answers with a shrug and a smile. "That's the sort of stuff I went into kung fu to get to do, y'know? " He nods over to where the director and writer are making enthusiastic noises at each other. "I'ma step outside a sec while those two hash out what we're doing next, holler when they've got a plan, OK?"

As he walks past the frowning Mandarin, he says quietly, "If you're Yue Fei, walk with me," without breaking his stride.

"Ni hao, and all that jazz," the Mandarin says. "As you have surmised, I am Yue Fei. I am - wait for it - your 'spirit guide,' appointed by your illustrious father, the agile and puissant Sun Wukong.

"I am not, however, a walking fortune cookie," he says. "Nor am I a babysitter, even if you are something like my eighty-third cousin fifteen times removed."

"Any questions?"

Once Tommy is outside, he pulls out his phone and holds it to his ear like he's talking, to disguise the fact that he's talking to what's presumably a ghost. "So, what do you do for me, and what do I do for you? This is going to be a working relationship, and that's fine, but I need to know what I'm working with here."

"You are the mortal son of Sun Wukong. In time, your powers will grow. But even as the tiniest spark of your august lineage quickens, you will far exceed the abilities of mere mortals," Yue Fei tells you.

"I am here to guide you. You do not simply hand a sharp knife to a child and bid him be on his way. I have no martial instruction to provide; if you wish to pursue other forms, you will do so through mortal teachers. And, I am here to warn you. Such powers are things of legend for a reason. They come with a price, and with equally legendary enemies."

"What sort of price are we talking here?" Tommy asks. "Are we talking 'with great power comes great responsibility', or 'kill puppies for Satan'? Because if it's the latter, well. I've apparently got a family tradition for dealing with complete bullshit now."

"Dead puppies are no fun," Yue Fei says solemnly. "It is a game of gods and powers. One does not move a piece without consequence, but those consequences are not always obvious or immediate. Do you not wonder about recent events here in New Orleans and the Gulf?"

"...until now, not really," Tommy admits after a moment. "So, for reference, how gonzo should I be expecting this new world full of children of gods and what-all else to be? Should I be watching out for demons and those hopping vampire zombies?"

"The god business is crueler than most," Yue Fei says, somehow managing a Hunter S. Thompson drawl. "Did you know the Christian Bible borrowed the temptation of Christ from Buddha's encounter with Mara? So, yes."

"But do not expect all of them to be the enemies of the Celestial Bureaucracy."

"I'm assuming you're referring to demons, and not the vampires," Tommy comments. "Look, can we skip the dire portents phase and move on to where I sign? I'm a martial arts actor and stuntman. I know _exactly_ how dangerous this life can be, my brother's an actuary - I have literally had the math done. I'm happy to accept more danger in exchange for getting to be an honest-to-gods Hero-with-a-capital-H over swapping between 'Evil Martial Arts Dude' and 'Kung Fu Sidekick' for the rest of my career."

"A career is still a choice," Yue Fei says. "You don't always get to choose to be a Hero or not. You either are, or aren't. Perhaps the distinction is too subtle, but you can still cook without being a master chef. You can still paint without being a Rembrandt. But you cannot be a Hero without accepting it."

"Kind of like being a guide to said hero," he mutters.

"I sense a certain lack of enthusiasm about your position in this," Tommy deadpans. "Anything I can do to help you out there?"

"Don't get yourself killed?" Yue Fei gives a wry chuckle. "He's the One! Kid gets trampled by a horse. But that's okay, another turn of the wheel, and this kid, he's the One! Arrow in the gullet, right in the middle of a pretty decent speech, too. Third time's the charm, right? Nooooooo, this One is burned alive with an entire village he'd convinced to rebel.

"So, don't take this the wrong way, but I don't really want you to be the One. Even if you are. And, I must admit it's a bit creepy that your television character shares the name of my first ward. The kid who fell from his saddle, got dragged down a rocky hillside and trampled ...?"

"So, sounds like we need to change the narrative, then," Tommy says. "Working solo's not my thing, and clearly hasn't worked out well for you, so we find a crew to roll with."

He pauses for a moment, considering. "I mean, if Sun Wukong's having kids, there have to be other gods doing it, right?"

"Indeed. There are many such as yourself, I am told," Yue Fei says. "Gods of Creation, gods of Death, gods of Justice, gods of Storm, gods by the bushel! And, maybe you can find a nice girl and settle down, raise some godlings of your own."

He laughs. "Kidding. That comes later, if there is a later. More likely to be an arrow through the gullet. I will find you later, and show you how to find others."

"I can tell that working with you is going to be all kinds of fun," Tommy says. "But now they're probably ready to get back to work in there."

He puts the phone back in his pocket, rolls his shoulders, and starts slipping back into the skin of badass kung fu gangster as he heads back on set.

* * *

"Shit. Well, that's just great," Trey Petrelli muttered. Catherine's tortoiseshell cat had bolted past him the moment he opened the door - it was something she'd always warned him about, and now the damned cat was loose.

"Raster! Come on!" he called, exasperated. The cat wouldn't come back, of course. "Goddamn it, Cathy. I can't ..."

He sat down on the couch and buried his head in his hands. She was dead. The police had told him earlier this afternoon, he'd gone down to the morgue and tried to focus only on her face, tried to imagine her smile and sparkling eyes, and not walk away with the memory of her hacked-up corpse.

"We'll find whoever did this, Cathy," he promised the darkness. "And then I'll make them pay."

* * *

Kaycee stopped to take off her heels. It was a choice between walking the last block over a grimy sidewalk and that special pain that came with spending a night in heels, working at the club. Although right now, all she felt was a bone-deep weariness that came from morning classes, two jobs, and nowhere near enough sleep.

Which was probably why she didn't notice the van, its headlights off, following her a half-block back, nor the man walking alongside it.

"We've got a problem," the M.E. said.

"I'm listening," said Kate Spinelli. "Mu-shu there, General Tso's Chicken in that one, Potstickers. Have some."

"You'll want to put your food down."

"That bad?" Spinelli frowned, finishing a potsticker and setting down her chopsticks. "Okay. Spill it, Doc."

"You don't have a murder on your hands," he said. "You have a serial killer."

"Because of some knife that belongs in the King Tut exhibit?" Spinelli asked.

"In part. But it's not just her heart that's missing. Other organs have been removed," the M.E. told her.

"Black market organs? Isn't that an urban legend? Waking up in the bathtub with a note to inform you your kidney has been removed?"

"I'm afraid it's more twisted than that. Everything points to the preparations for mummification."

"Mummific- oh, Jesus. Has the Chief seen your report?"

"Yes. Here's your copy," he said, handing over an internal correspondence envelope.

"So," bellowed Jim Ashton. "Doc tell you his theory? Girl gets kidnapped, they're ready to mummify her to serve King Tut or Ra or some other Stargate SG-1 bullshit in the afterlife, then they discover she has fake tits, so she's not pure enough, gkkkkkkk."

"Doc?"

"She did have breast augmentation. A modest one," he said. "The rest is Detective Ashton's theory."

"Oh, hell no," Spinelli said as she realized why Ashton was here.

"Pressure from on high, apparently," Ashton said. "Relax. We'll find some freak show in an abandoned building and it'll be open-and-shut."

"I'm not that lucky," Spinelli said.

* * *

Twylla rolled up to her apartment around 9:45. To her surprise, she saw Mrs. Cho sitting out on the front stoop, sipping a cup of something warm that steamed in the night air. Probably tea.

"Mrs. Cho!" Twylla called as she strolled up. "What are you doing up?"

"Ah, couldn't sleep," the elderly Korean woman answered with a smile. "So, I come out and listen to night. It not too bad, tonight. Pretty quiet!"

Roscoe bounded up the stoop, appearing for all the world like he was going to bowl the tiny woman over. But, he came to a careful stop beside Mrs. Cho and sat down, wagging his tail happily.

Mrs. Cho sat down her tea and buried both hands in the fur around his neck, scratching and patting, "Roscoe! You good boy! Yes, you are!"

Roscoe couldn't have looked happier, grinning and drooling like the gentle giant that he is.

"Oh! I made something for you. Be right back," Twylla hurried to her apartment, leaving Roscoe to wallow in Mrs. Cho's attention. She returned shortly with a bundle in her hands.

Mrs. Cho took it from her and unfolded it to reveal a soft, cream colored throw blanket. Twylla had knitted it over the past couple of weeks while watching TV.

"It beautiful!" Mrs. Cho said, running an appreciative hand over the finely looped blanket. "Thank you!"

"Well, I figured it would be nice to snuggle under while you watch TV," Twylla takes a seat beside Mrs. Cho. She smiles and looks out over the small pond in the apartment's courtyard.

"I tell you what. You come over tomorrow. We make blackberry cobbler and watch Yi San," Mrs. Cho reaches over and pats Twylla's knee affectionately.

"But, I don't speak Korean!" Twylla laughs.

"Who care?" Mrs. Cho exclaims. "Those boys hot. Cho may be old, but not dead yet!"

The two women laugh, leaning against each other and enjoying the evening.

Twylla and Mrs. Cho sit outside for another 15 minutes or so, laughing and chatting. Mostly, it's Mrs. Cho catching Twylla up on the plot in _Yi San,_ in preparation for tomorrow's day of cobbler and ogling.

Eventually, Twylla excuses herself. She kisses Mrs. Cho's wrinkled cheek and gathers up Roscoe, who has been laying contently on his side snuggled up against the elderly woman. She goes inside and closes the door behind her with a deep breath. Now that she's home and all the clandestine meetings are over, she suddenly realizes exactly how tired she is. Her shoulders slump and she rubs at her eyes, wanting nothing more than to sit down on the couch and veg for a while. Even though the evening had not been physically difficult, it had been an emotional roller coaster of anger and fear on various levels.

"Nope. Still got work to do, Twylla. You can rest when you are dead," she mumbles as she tosses her purse aside and makes her way back to her office.

She plops down in her computer chair and starts to fire up the P2P program when a thought occurs to her. She pulls out the burner and zips off a quick text to Kenari.

 _Do you still have those drives or did you pass them to your guy? Easier for me to borrow them and copy than transfer._

After that, she turns her attention to doing searches in the deep, dark corners of the internet where people like to keep things hidden. Who are the Argus Group? And, has the scion data been offered for sale, somewhere? It seems unlikely that it has since most people would think it was nothing more than a bunch of malarkey but...better to check and find nothing, than not check and miss important information.

After thirty minutes of poring through the web, you're about to claw your eyes out. The Argus Group seems to be the latest iteration of conspiracy theory fodder, similar to the Bilderbergs and Tri-Lateral Commission. All that's missing is a dose of space alie-

Urgh. Never mind.

Still, there appears to be kernels of truth amid the dross. Certainly, the Argus Group exists. Some of the crazier 'truth' sites may even be their work, a means of trawling the web for their own digital footprints and separating the curious from the credulous. And you have a better idea of where to start than most.

Thus, it's time to doff the tin-foil hat and put on the headsets and some serious hacking music. (Is there such a thing?)

But this time, you're adding additional steps to your hopscotch routine, including two recursive loops. There's no reason to believe that Argus is oblivious or inept. Instead of approaching from the decoy site, you prepare for an end run, a more demanding hack where your only goal is to identify the real host system.

No one ever goes through the front door of the CIA.

Twylla double and triple checks her setup. She knows that if anything goes wrong with this, she's going to have to run...maybe both in the cyber and physical sense. Who knows? But, hopefully, everything will go okay. Fingers crossed!

Before she dives in, though, she sends out a text via burner to Kenari. She considers sending one out to the whole team but it's probably best to keep things tightly reined, for now. If someone comes searching, Kenari has another hacker that can help hide her tracks. Sebastian has nothing of the sort. And, she simply doesn't want to drag Sven into this mess if she does get caught.

 _Looking for Argus. Trying to verify host system. Going into CIA. If I disappear, shit went all sideways. Wish me luck!_

Setting the burner aside, she sets to work...

It's surprising, of course, that there are vectors leading into Langley, let alone ones that aren't air-gapped for maximum security. But, then, it's part of the system exploited by Manning and Snowden through the simple method of using a USB key.

The sooner you jump from a gateway into a secondary or even tertiary host, the further you'll get before any tracers burn through your safety margin. There were no detours through public utilities this time - no sense leaving a recognizable footprint. Instead, it was a merry chase in and out of a series of day-traders ...

A system linked to identity credentials is a tempting target, but you're not planning a trip to CIA Headquarters any time soon. Instead, you peel back the layers of encryption and access to garner yourself the Golden Ticket for this once-in-a-lifetime trip into Wonka's Factory. Only the Oompa-Loompas around here all carry MP5 submachineguns.

 _I never dreamed that I would climb / Over the moon in ecstasy / But nevertheless it's there that I'm / Shortly about to be ..._

Over the course of several minutes, you're an Air Force colonel, a mid-level data analyst, and a White House advisor, handing off access in a series of slightly madcap trades. Some of these people will doubtless not have a clue about Argus, but whoever investigates won't readily believe that their names were pulled out of a hat.

There. The Everlasting Gobstopper. _Martinez, Lt. Colonel Catherine._

Shit, the girl was a light colonel? Holy Mother of God, what have you stepped in?

* * *

(Sven- After everyone leaves his office, same night))

Sven mulled over all the information he had received. He had two targets for Monday - well, three. He needed to follow up with Detective Spinelli and see where her investigation was going, he wanted to try to hunt down Trey Patrelli and see which ways his wind blew, and outside of the world of Might and Magic he also needed to look out for Art's hit piece.

Finally, he pricked his finger on Conscience, broadcasting _Hey Christine, are you free? We've got ourselves an epic quagmire to sort through._

 _Still at the office, wrapping up after City Council meeting,_ comes the answer. _If you stop by, use the side door, please._

Use of the side door isn't an unusual request, as you've gotten a reputation as a political heavy hitter, and that's all it takes. A security guard sees you walking down the hall, takes note of where you're going, and the grapevine does the rest, whether it's gossip about 'Porter's attack dog' or Machiavellian plots behind-closed-doors.

Christine looks tired, and you know that means she's been burning the midnight oil. In all the years you've worked with her, you know she pulls all-nighters that would make most executives curl up in a whimpering ball, pretending to go home only to spend the night working in her office _there,_ then coming back to City Hall in the morning.

"Well, the universe seems to be trying to tell us something," she says. "This Detective Ashton, warts and all, just got assigned to a high-profile murder along with Detective Spinelli. We had an off-the-record talk with the Chief of Police, and he shared some of the details with us."  
"What did you learn, and what do you think?"

Sven sighed at that news as he settled in his usual chair. "Ashton is in my sights, and I already set wheels in motion to get him out of the way, but that was before murder was getting bandied about. I was going to try to wheedle my way into Detective Spinelli's confidence for the case on Monday so we could tap their resources, I'll keep an eye on Ashton and find out whether he'll be a boon or bane and... act accordingly."

Sven pulled up the crime scene pictures for Christine, who didn't bat an eye at their graphic nature. _I'm sure she's seen worse in her time as a warrior of Tyr._ "We don't have much on our end to be honest. We know that Catherine Martinez is the deceased, she worked at some social media startup. Her heart was cut out with what seems to be an Egyptian ceremonial knife, although Kenari, the Egyptian in our ragtag team, couldn't identify it specifically yet. Catherine was engaged to the CEO, one Trey Patrelli, who I'm going to try to hunt down this weekend and see where he stands in this."

He set his shoulders, saying, "There's another problem too, one that I'd managed to exacerbate. Evidently, Miss Martinez was managing a giant super-list of potential scions, and was coordinating with the FBI or some other dark corner of the federal government. They hadn't made any of us evidently, but we were all more or less being investigated, and you were in there as well.

"There was also a listening device at Sebastian's hangar - he's the one from that TV show - and when I had gone there to make hay over him spreading our names to his team I'm pretty sure I put on quite the show for whoever was listening. We haven't determined yet if it's the same people as were making the list, but it sure seems probable to me.

"Twylla, the blue-haired hacker, set some extra beefy protections on my equipment, I'll ask her to come in and take a look at your machine too just in case."

Sven texted Twylla while he spoke, "Hey Twylla, when u get a chance could u come to City Hall to set up some defense for Ms Porter?"

To Christine he said, "Does the name 'Argus' mean anything to you?" He pondered a second, "Or, left field here, is there something about Las Vegas I should know about?"

"Vegas? The only thing you need to know is that the odds favor the house. And if it's not the Mafia, it's the Yakuza," Christine says with a deadpan expression. "Why?"

You realize you won't be getting anything out of Christine until you tell her what _you_ know. She's too practiced at politics to spill the beans, even if she has a play-by-play account to hand.

"And 'Argus,'" she sighs. "You are aware of the mythological reference, are you not? Just like the KGB, Argus is one of those entities that reinvents itself on a regular basis while staying true to its core mission: identifying Scions. What goes with that changes over time."

* * *

Still keeping an eye on her machine, making sure that no one has twigged to her intrusion, yet, Twylla turns her attention to the late Lt. Colonel Martinez.

 _What pies did you have your fingers in, Miss Martinez?_ Twylla thinks as she starts working her way out from that name, searching for assignments, other frequent contacts, organizations, clubs...anything that can point Twylla to exactly what Martinez may have been doing. It seems obvious that she was in charge of finding scions in New Orleans for the Feds. Head of IT for a social media company, database of scions on her computer...but, what else was she doing? Who was she reporting to?

Twylla hears her burner beep at her, but she ignores it, for now. She'll get to it once she is done and clear.

Profiling is nothing new to your experience. You've doxxed more than a few prominent executives and politicians who never realized their falls from grace would be _sans_ a golden parachute. But the picture of Catherine Martinez is something different.

Top of her class at MIT, and right into the Air Force as a lieutenant seconded to Homeland Security and the USCYBERCOM (Cyber Warfare Command), where she was the lead on the _Jade Dragon_ takedown, a Chinese hacker group that had left too much of a footprint in an offshore bank and became traceable. She'd come out of that with a set of gold oak leaves, and had traded those in for silver. And then she'd been vetted by someone deep in the Puzzle Palace, the NSA, whereupon her affiliation and rank seemed to vanish, her history sanitized, to the point where a fiance whose father worked in the same trade hadn't a clue. But her allegiances were clear. The database wasn't just idle curiosity; someone wanted the skinny on Scions for a reason, and that reason was national security. Either to co-opt them, or to make sure they didn't pose a threat ...

 _Well, poop,_ Twylla thinks, tapping her bottom lip with one finger. _Everything recent has been wiped clean. Looks like if I want more about her recent dealings, I need to look through her emails. She probably didn't write anything openly but...she had to keep in contact with her gub'ment buddies somehow. It's a place to start, anyway._

Martinez was part of CyberCom. She would've known all the tricks of the trade for staying hidden. Burner phones, anonymous emailers, P2P networks...finding out what she was doing that may have attracted the attention of someone deadly will be no small feat.

Of course, it may not have anything at all to do with Argus and her database of scion goodness. The fact that she was a victim could be a coincidence. Twylla snorts. _Yeah, right. We have someone keeping tabs on scions and that person just happens to get their heart cut out with a ceremonial knife. Too weird to be chance._

 _As long as I'm here..._ Twylla turns her attention to searching through recent reports. _Something_ happened in Vegas. But, what? Is it something that the government knows about or is something confined to the scion 'community'...if such a thing even exists? (Twylla makes a mental note to dig into that idea a bit, later on.) She searches through any reports she can find dated within the last year, looking for references to Vegas.

With as many reports as the government generates, she knows that she may well turn up exactly nothing in the amount of time that she has. But, she would kick herself, later, if she didn't even try.

"Bullshit," you tell yourself. This is the government. Nothing is ever thrown away or deleted, only moved to a different file cabinet. Even crackpot notions of multilateral first-strike scenarios for a round of global thermonuclear war. Martinez' complete dossier has to exist.

You find yourself in that unusual space where your mind is approaching a problem from two different angles. The hack for doxxing Lieutenant Colonel Martinez, and a grave-digging job on whatever happened in Vegas.

 _"Oh, no. No, you didn't.*"_ one of your safeguards goes off.

But it's not the usual tracer. Someone's burning back down your line like wildfire. You're going to have time to grab one or the other, but not both - the dossier, or a classified document on Las Vegas.

* * *

Sven mulled over her obvious avoidance on the Vegas issue, but decided not to press. If it was something he needed to know, she'd tell him, and right now it was just something more or less random that Kenari had brought up in conversation.

"Yeah, the dude with a hundred eyes or whatever. Their name came up as one of the engineers of that list, if not _the_ engineer, and Miss Martinez seemed to be an ally of sorts. I don't think they're the ones doing the murdering, but it's sounding like they're not fitting to be our friends either.

"You already know a lot more than we do about Argus, do you happen to have a contact there of some sort, or a place we could start? I'm afraid I'm in a race to get ahead of them before I find out what my little display motivates them to do."

"Crap! Crap in a bucket!" Twylla exclaims as she realizes she can't get both items in time. Almost without thinking, she grabs Martinez' dossier. That information is more immediate to what they are doing. Vegas may or may not be relevant.

Once that is down, Twylla immediately begins pulling out of the hack, closing up shop, sweeping away her tracks.

"Nothing to see here, folks. Just a hedge. Move along," she mumbles as her fingers fly across the keyboard, desperately trying to disconnect in time. Having the CIA in her lap falls squarely into Twylla's "do not want" column.

* * *

One thing you learn from Martinez' dossier is that Petrelli is a dupe, with no connection to Argus or awareness of his 'fiancee's' true identity. That doesn't rule out digging into _Socialize!'s_ financials to see who bankrolled them. A project as hush-hush as Argus wouldn't depend on corporate largesse.

You wonder if their fairy godmother will disappear, or if there's enough invested in the startup to forward another CTO candidate along the same lines - after, of course, Trey Petrelli folds his hand.

The most important item is that Martinez was adopted, her true parentage unknown. And even though you want to reject it as 'too improbable,' you realize it would be the kind of eighteen thousand steps ahead the gods are capable of.

Martinez was a scion.

Twylla leans back in her chair, stretching her arms up over her head. Finding that not quite working on the spot she wants, she stands and arches her back, leaning...leaning... _crack!_...ahhhh. There it is. Sighing, she sits back down and thinks about this.

 _Hopefully, whatever Kenari grabbed will have some financials. I only snagged a little bit. Probably not enough to paint much of a picture_ , the young tech turns back to the folders that she had downloaded from Martinez' computer. _Let's see if this thing has information about parentage or if it's just all guesses._

If Martinez' divine parent isn't listed in the dossier, then it might be in the database. Plus, it gives her a chance to search for any Aztec or Mayan scions. She's not sure about the names of those gods, but she's fairly positive that they will be the ones she can't pronounce. If there are any questions, she can always turn to wikipedia for answers.

Examining the folders and files from your previous run, the parentage of potential scions is indeed a topic of interest, with the data graded according to reliability. In families where there are multiple children, siblings are examined and excluded or marked for further investigation (all of Kenari's brothers are dismissed as potential Scions).

Life events are also part of the record. Trips abroad, unexplained turns of fortune, sudden career changes, accidents.

You look up Martinez' name. Oddly enough, she's not associated with the Aztec pantheon at all. She's a Scion of Hermes.

"Welp," Twylla rubs a hand across her eyes. "I think i'm done for tonight." She turns off the PC, her mind a whirl with all the things that she has learned. But, she is tired. It's been a long day and the need for a little relaxation is calling to her. Besides, it's late and the others may have already retired, as well. Relaying all of this can wait until tomorrow.

Twylla remembers hearing her phone buzz during that run and reaches over to check it. Seeing Sven's message, she texts back, _Sure. Just let me know when to be there._

Tossing the burner aside, once again, she goes to the living room and flops onto the couch. She has been sitting for no more than a second or two before Roscoe joins her, taking up the rest of the seating as he lays across her lap.

"Oh, for...move your butt, fuzzball!" Twylla laughs and shoves at Roscoe's haunches as she digs for the TV remote control. Finding it, she flips the TV on and starts scanning for something to watch. All the while, one hand absently pets Roscoe.

Finding nothing of interest, she turns to the DVR. "Hey, look! We've got a couple of episodes of _Rick and Morty_ to watch. Let's get schwifty in here!" she grins and starts it up.

Roscoe seems rather unimpressed with the idea of watching _Rick and Morty._ In fact, he's already sleep, snoring and drooling contently.

Twylla doesn't even get five minutes into the episode before she joins her guardian, head resting against the back of the couch, deep in slumber, the TV and the day's trials lost in dreams.

* * *

Christine sighs wearily. For an instant, she is both the exhausted public servant ... and the steadfast daughter of Tyr. They are not opposite sides of the same coin, but an oddly terrifying synthesis of the mortal and the divine. As one staffer back in New York put it, "Don't fuck with her unless you have your insurance paid up. And maybe not even then. I don't think they've found the body of the last mook who decided to test their luck."

"No, I don't have an inside track," she says. "Just ... lots of experience. I am ... somewhat older than I look, little brother. Give me your hand. It will be easier to ... explain."

With no reason to doubt or distrust your sister and guide, you take her proffered hand ...

... and you are standing in a crowded war room, a map of England and an encroaching Nazi Germany laid out upon the table. A calendar gives the date as August 11, 1940 - smack in the middle of what would become known as the Battle of Britain.

"Major?" someone asks. "It's time."

Christine nods. "Very good. Squadron 4 has the green light, and godspeed."

 _Argus has had many names over the years. The Allies knew of Hitler's obsession with the mystical, but we - Scions - feared that it was more than a search for historical relics. It was an all-out attempt to not only recruit among our number, but harness the power of myth in what could only be described as an attempt at apotheosis, a rise to godhood. So we tried to anticipate his moves, and block them. The effort became known as Delphi, and we helped create it.  
_  
 _After the war, we'd thought it dismantled, another special operations bureau that shuttered its doors and faded away. It resurfaced as Cassandra, working under the direction of HUAC. There were no Scions in its ranks, and no means of influencing their activities.  
_  
 _Again during the late 1960's and the Vietnam War. It was rumored that everything from the U2 Incident to the Mayaguez was related to our people, but we were at least able to spread enough misinformation that Congress laughed it all off as someone's LSD trip._  
 _  
Argus. It has to be them. And, it has to be because of events that happened in Las Vegas, the unintended consequence of changing the future. Understand, brother - Ragnarok descended upon the world, and a band of Scions prevented it ... including your - our - brother._

Sven struggled to accept the vision, and managed to adapt to the sudden change thanks to his experience with psychedelics. His brain briefly flashing its own interpretations of some of her narrative with scenes from 'Raiders of the Lost Ark' and 'Hellboy.'

He held on to the visions tightly, trying to hold Christine hostage to that level of psychic connection without being too forceful, to see what perhaps she didn't want him to see. _I had no idea, none at all. Ragnarok I can grok, end of the world, obviously averted, but what do you mean they changed the future?_

Suddenly, the struggling ceases, and a moment in time blossoms, nuances unfolding like petals seeking the sun.

"You stand charged with defying the will of the All-Father," comes the accusation. "What say you?"

"I plead not guilty," says a golden-haired hero in whom you see more than a measure of your father's demeanor.

"This is no mortal court, Son of Tyr," comes the warning. "There is no pleading. Will you be judged?"

"I will," the hero declares. "What is done is done. I have no regrets."

There are murmurs of disapproval and defiant cheers in equal measure, until a resonant _thud_ silences all - the haft of Gugnir striking the hall's polished floor.

"By sparing some and killing others, you have changed the future. The Norns will not be so easily denied, and now the Aesir must ever be vigilant. Our judgment is service in exile," the All-Father says. "Use the time to consider the price of defiance."

Christine breaks the link. "You may regret doing that, brother. We are of the same blood. Take care that Alexander's fate does not spill upon your own."

As Sven's vision condensed back into Christine's office, he fell back into his chair, not having realized he had stood up somewhere along the way. Rather than scrabble after the thousands of questions racing through his mind, he closed his eyes and sought his center. _I'll have plenty of time to think about this later._

After a few moments he looked back up at Christine, who leaned against her desk, watching him patiently. She absent mindedly worried with a silver ring on one hand, adorned only by simple filigree that looked like braided rope.

A single question now burned in his mind, one he knew could define his life's course as the son of a God. He finally said, quietly but firmly, "The Norns are their - _our_ \- version of the Fates, right? Am I to understand averting Apocalypse was a punishable offense? What purpose is there to entrust the powers of the Gods to us mortals, if we are not free to use them to protect our mortal realm?"

"Yes, they are like the Greek _moriae_ ," Christine says. "Their hands can be seen in all things, be they of mortal or divine origin. Thus, the All-Father is not _punishing_ Alex - he is removing him from the battle, until the repercussions of his killing Fenrir become clear. We could argue the fine points of the Norns ordaining Alex's actions or the All-Father's response, but this is not a debating society."

"And what comes next is of great concern to the gods. Mortals _must_ choose, or they are less for it. What some of us fear is that they will choose to leave the gods behind. Forgotten, we may simply fade away as if we never were more than stories; or that as we fade, other, older beings will wake."

Sven didn't like where this was heading. It didn't seem fair that scions had to not only play by Man's rules, but were held against the laws of the Divine as well. He had always forged his own path, shirking the law and morality of the moment when his goal was important enough, and he could already tell that Tyr's blood running through his veins was only going to strengthen that urge.

Perhaps that was the fate of Tyr's children. Tyr had sacrificed his hand - and his leadership of the Aesir - for the sake of what was Just. Alex, too, had evidently sacrificed his own wellbeing for the sake of justice.

"Where was Alex banished to? Is he... here? On Earth? Or Midgard I guess."

"The All-Father has not said. Others besides you and I are curious, of course, even outside of the Aesir," Christine says. "I believe that if our paths are meant to cross, they will."

"Though I will, for the record, warn you against seeking mental communion with him as we have shared," she says, favoring you with a direct gaze. "If the future is malleable, then one must consider what and who belongs at the table."

"No disrespect to our family, but I think I'll have to make that determination on my own."

Sven tried to sum up the night's revelations, "So some secret Anti-Thule Society has gone all NSA on scions. A failed Ragnarok in Vegas. Fenrir is dead by our brother's hand. And now, even the Gods are unsure what happens next? Awesome. Anything else we should know? I think I'm fine going back to toiling with more mundane problems for a bit, like hunting down Miss Martinez' widower."

"Wait, what did you mean by older beings? Are we talking Cthulhu rising from the sea? Should we be looking through Lovecraft's writings for clues about this woman's murder rather than Egyptian papyri?"

"You're being literal, Sven," Christine frowned. "My warning is not meant as a threat. It's just that Alex has a reputation for being ... stubborn. And one of the reasons Father saw fit to assign me as your guide and advisor."

"Lovecraft was not far off in his visions," Christine laughs. "His ... talesare not entirely fiction, but neither are they completely accurate. There are those who came before, and those who rose only to fall. They are neither dead nor forgotten in some places. Your path may take you under their shadow, and it may be that our changing future is a dark one."

"Though the hands of the gods may be involved in this murder, they will be embodied in mortal beings who may, perhaps, have misunderstood their charter, so to speak. With all due respect to Detectives Spinelli and Ashton, justice under the laws of man will be one matter. You and I - and the others - will be concerned with higher laws."

"Okay, thanks Christine. I think I've got enough to worry about now." Sven chuckled ruefully. "In more mundane matters, I'll ask Twylla to come by on Monday to fiddle with your electronics. In fact, I'll just hire her firm to do a full upgrade for our offices. We have them sweeped for bugs fairly regularly so I'm more concerned with someone tracing our comings and goings than full-blown covert ops, but we'll have to see what shakes out. Meanwhile - keep an ear out?"

Sven got up and started collecting his things.

He didn't sleep well that night, his mind racing and seeking logic and sense in this world of Gods.

He didn't wake up until well past noon the next day. After a few cups of coffee, Sven called Faren. "Hey, I'm following up on this murder case, I need to find Trey Patrelli. Like it or not he's going to be in front of the press, and he'll need our support in the tough times ahead." Faren could read the subtext - _We need to coach him on what to say._

"Assuming he hasn't crawled into a bottle for a Lost Weekend, we'll find him," Faren assures you. "Do you want to name drop on this? Say you're from Councilwoman Porter's office?"

"Yup, official channels, pomp and circumstance. We're very sympathetic to his situation and will be offering him all the support he needs."

Sven hung up and waited the call back to get in motion. In the meantime, he grabbed his Kindle and started reading the 'Poetic Edda.'


End file.
